Poem: Native Nostalgia
There are no bells,
She told me,
Just their chirps.
She danced to their songs,
And I almost felt as if I could
Bathe in the rays that bounced off her skin.
I ran through yellow in a halcyon daze,
Jasmine twirling with the wind,
And native marigolds I placed behind my ears.
Then I felt her soften like pulp,
Weep in a deep blue silence,
I could see her soul dispute its existence.
Memories faded again,
But I know
She could almost hear that birdcall.
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