Remember Serbian Fields
The storms are lifting now,
where once the auburn horizons clashed with dark,
where mother led her children to drink,
where father broke the moistened dirt,
where I spoke of the bent little days;
there are no storms that we can touch,
nor the candle beside our bed; there are no monsters
that I am aware, I only know there could have been.
Copyright © Collin Lam | Year Posted 2013
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