fields of southern comfort
lie at the feet of my memories,
illusive at best
but seem to be reoccurring
like the night
and the day that follows,
over and over and over...
and, as I
stroll through these fields I am
reminded of the poppies
from which I was born
in the year of the mind
which came and went
as if it were never here.
leaving in its wake all these
fields of southern comfort.
5aug14
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