Robert E. Robinson
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Fields Of Gold
Into the fields of yesterday I returned.
My poverty-stricken memory made me yearn,
Amid all the old dusty shadows I churn,
To disern, recollect and once again relearn.
I anxiously leaped into the harsh dark,
and a warm, gentle touch took me by the hand,
And led me into the mind's secret treasures,
Where all of the suppressed carks of life still stand.
As I entered through artery's corridore,
And I stood in front of memory's antique door,
I swung hard and wide the old sinewed portal,
And again saw what I once had saw before.
Stretched out as far ...