The Field
Murky clouds closing with triumph,
Swaying seas of grass flow around.
It drowned all screams and wails
By a provoking essence so profound.
The breeze of evermore had brewed
While cast-dimming chills brace me.
Soars of stark wind embrace the mood,
Finally making the tearful face see.
A small puncture to the everlasting soul,
Shouldn't bear to hurt the loving being more.
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