Fresh Hell

 

We sat on our hill and she taught me a song.

I remember her laugh when I got the words wrong,

I remember the way the grass tickled our feet,

And the flowers I tucked in her hair looked so sweet,

But I ruefully deem the dream as incomplete.

Though deep I have delved and long I have sought,

I cannot recall what she patiently taught.

 

 

 

 

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