[ Peggy-O ; trad. ]

Borrowed time from the afternoon below the thin stirring of a locust tree, archaic marigold leaves that fell like sifts of paper rain and with those that landed on my lap, intoned by verse once lived but never understood upon being spoken. From years that grew after time into autumn’s shadows, stretched from what I can now only know through a flux of symbols, silent messages. Gracious are those mellifluous winds from the far reaches, the likes of Caledonia, and slowed down for peninsular songs of flaxen yield gone memorable. Linseed dreams are bottomless valleys. Myself there surrounded by heights of forever, hanging on to the covered brevity of nothing.

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