Cold and dry, the fruits have died
Once a great harvest, no crops survive
I pray for green pastures, that bountiful yield
Will I see her frolic again in the strawberry fields?
The silky red ribbon that followed her small bosom,
Her flushed warm cheeks, I long to brush them,
Her blue raspberry hair, waving with no care
Her short white dress, she'd scold me if I stared
Past are the days of richness and sunburn
Here lay the leaves stricken with auburn
My heart squirms and toils, I'm sure it was real,
I'll dream of her again, at the strawberry fields
>>86311497Also, yippie! Thank you! I need to start making archives myself. I can't always depend on one being there all the time.
