Work-a-day sun high burnin’
Growin’ dull, respectful red and cider-cold;
Dawn’s melody slowly turnin’
Becoming familiar, restful, old.
Harvest hopes answered
Ripening to warm-honey gold:
Friends will always know each other –
If their stories be honestly told –
That distance and language matter not
When time and hearts be weighed and sold.
30/7/2013
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