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July

Above a rushy meadow in early July
The little mottled brown skylark does sing as he fly
A musical speck in the blue and gray sky
Of human kind one who will always be shy

On my flights of fancy the sweet scent of grass mowed for silage or hay
Is wafting in the wind of a nice Summer's day
Across the old fields looking resplendent in their Summer flowers
Looking lush and green after recent thundery showers

Memories of beauty that lives through the decades of time
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Thursday, February 23, 2017
Topic(s) of this poem: july
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from 'rhymeonly'
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