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A Mid Summers Dream IIA Mid Summers Dream part II
He saw her face dappled by moonlight that glistened through the trees as if faeries were at play glittering the forest floor with star dust.
She swooned falling gently into his arms her entire being flecked with the incandescent light. He held her up brushing back her black curly hair. Her dazzling green eyes caught his and they both laughed blissfully.
Until a silence filled the wood and they were lost in each other, forgetting their foolishness, drinking in every detail of the moment as they passionately embraced.
This place was like a fantasy realm but how long would this joy last, would they be frozen here in time within each other’s arms, blissfully cursed in an eternal embrace.
She pulled away lifting her hands to the heavens, calling out to the creatures of the forest. She slipped from out of his embrace and dashed through the trees. She giggled. He stood there for a slight moment bewildered by her subtle movement and then grinned and ran after
Where I'm From...I’m from teddy bears and tuck-ins,
From Mama’s pies and story book time,
I’m from ocean waves and deep sea breezes,
From sunsets across the sea
To sunrises above purple mountains majesty,
From whites sands and deserts covered in snow,
I’m from Disney Cartoons and Saturday mornings,
From tea time with Winnie the Pooh and fluffy tails of kitties,
I’m from smiling faces and happy times
I’m Pumpkin and the Halloween baby,
Saying Please, and thank you, hellos and goodbyes,
I’m from birthday cakes and family dinners,
From ‘Who’s going to cut the ham?’
To unwrapping colorful gift wrap,
I’m from hugs and kisses
From songs and words and wishes,
Playing tag and hide and seek
With my first puppy dog,
From on the road again
To get me out of here!
And visiting friends and relatives miles away
I am from the frames setting on the matle piece
From mountain views and blue and green hues
I’m the lonely branch
Whose colorful leaves f
Volpi.You will find that the story you tell
is very rarely your own. In Lucca,
even the smallest pebbles
breathe in the warm sunlight.
Knotted stones and cobbled roads
beat out a paper-dry heartbeat heat
my city breathes in and out,
inhales sparrow air.
It's writing a story.
You are the pen.
You will find that in Lucca
the daisy chains forge fire
in side streets and back alleys.
Teenagers intertwine. Tell me,
odd flower, are you still closed?
Here we are colored wax;
the heat of the city melts us.
We run into each other, rhapsody
of pigments. Operas are our specialties.
Open up; feel the reds.
If not, try and see them. There is a place
of deep knife marks, a street
long as midnight
you may learn something there.
Valentina's voice glimmers like red wine.
You may enjoy intoxications. Still,
know alcohol has no story
and will swallow your own.
Find the sign with the wolf on it.
You'll know the place. Epiphanies ring true as church-bells.
Lucca still guides the wanderers
to well sp
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