There’s a burning yen nomadic deep within entrenched,
to absorb fresh environments ambrosial on foot,
where incidental hue or august colour wash abound,
or that March bloom tantalising shady patch,
with its dreamlike mystic wide-flung allure,
some blue pigment dawn whisper tempting spur on,
that hidden orange-red sunlit prompt I can’t curb,
I follow blindly without oppugning brier cloak
pitfalls,
yet noonday mishap...
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