Fields.

Come in the morning
when the fields are white
awaiting the sun.

Come and I’ll meet you
close to the river
where birds
sing over their nests
in the trees above.

Take my face
in your hands.
I don’t ask for you
to promise me tomorrow.
But today
just hold my hand.

Flowers bloom
where you touch.

And today
I only want to stay
close
to the pulse
of your heart
and hear
what your eyes want to say.

Come
in the morning.

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