it is a miracle to walk a mile
along a leaf littered country lane
slow with no destination dire
only to breathe with senses free
while the high green field giving way to gold
sways in the crisp cold kinetic air
and with no need to hide there
as though some bully in pursuit
from your home now mute desolate
combed the dew gleaming countryside
to grasp and drag you screaming back
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