The Fields
Fields upon fields,
of flowers that fly,
in such a beautiful prose,
only for the eyes,
of my beautiful lullaby.
Respired innocence,
sent to perform,
and break the chain,
that causes one to mourn.
And no matter what I cant sup,
I know deep down in my gut,
that things in life,
will no longer be bare,
cause I have the fields,
the beautiful fields that weal's,
flowers that care.
Copyright © Justin Robbins | Year Posted 2011
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