Pome: You Are Fecund
When in the meadows
You Are Fecund
the rolling pastures and the berrybushes and the wave of the hills and the grass yards high and the sun and all this country of no other soul where the wild horses were and the floral cast of yellows and pinks and purples, reds, greens, ochre tints where the deities doth do flight down before the bluedawn to scatter their colours, and warm air, the scented plants that scant can name and the sounds as if the world has vanished and i see:
Keep reading with a 7-day free trial
Subscribe to Tales From The UniversE to keep reading this post and get 7 days of free access to the full post archives.