Those white waves of topsoil, Thick and rich beneath my fingers Awakening, a shot of green before, In the fields of April’s heed, I found The body of promise waking—gathered in, Full of wild winds and laughter’s plumes.
- HD
Those white waves of topsoil, Thick and rich beneath my fingers Awakening, a shot of green before, In the fields of April’s heed, I found The body of promise waking—gathered in, Full of wild winds and laughter’s plumes.