I have been with singing birds of spring
and apple blossoms and new grass.
I have watched crow on his way home
under silver skies in fall
over brown and yellow leaves
and the dry assembly of trees.
I have felt the sweet pinch of snow
in my nose as I ran and fell, laughing.
There is little else I wanted.
I suppose my memories will go back
to where they came
which is the only way
I am allowed to have them.
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