So soft and still the irony
Times pasture’s thrill I mean
Rosebuds then my tulips
Corn on the cusp, on the turn from green
Youth was never ever lasting
Passed there in between
Here and now and casting
For the love I need to seem
The hay loft and the stream
Stickleback, fox and trout
Hopefully then I duly dream
Quiet, quintessentially without
The shout of silent
Understanding or understatement
That no one knows
Just the thing I mean
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