Playground of the Scythe
By emeraldpuma
Wed, 15 Sep 2004
- 248 reads
A summer scene of flowers and of
sun,
A light caressing breeze, a flowing
stream,
A grassy unworn path to tread
upon:
All building blocks of sleeping Winter's
Dream;
I melt into this scene with hush
designed
In vain persuasion of the forest
folk
To pay a great big heap like me no
mind
And let me lay untouched by poison
oak
Had legs a snake to stand and stride
upon
This place might Eden be called still
today
Alas! His fall transformed these hills
anon
Into mere gilded guilty holiday.
Memento of the life He takes to give
This pretty little
playground of the scythe!
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