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Come hold my hand
And we'll reach for the sun.
What has been before
Can never be undone.
The past? Only a fragment
Of a time left long ago.
The future at hand?
Only God knows.
I am making a blanket-
weaving it in my mind,
from the sweet grass in the fields
to the the lanolin thick on your hands
I remember the little sheeps tails laying in the snow, with the new grass breaking through. Dads Australian sheep shearing songs on the now forgotten phono.
this is no ordinary blanket... It is weaved with the soul, and all the special memories it holds... I never learned to spin, but I brushed enough wool that my skin nearly bled, turning the white into red...
till another time...asho
Kala Rains
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