Array
(
[sid] => 186929
[catid] => 1
[aid] => mick
[title] => Green Grass
[time] => 2020-04-14 16:38:52
[hometext] =>
[bodytext] => When did you last poke your nose down in a fresh mown yard?
To smell the cut grass and warm earth; your child’s calling card.
The fragrance of not long ago when make believe was cast.
Roles where chosen, games were planned, while sitting in the grass.
The juicy blades beneath bare feet became a pirate ship,
a castle, or a baseball field, a magic carpet trip.
We ran, we rolled, did summersaults, fought duels and flew like planes!
Unmindful of that sweet perfume that always stayed the same.
When I ache for freedom from responsibilities,
I find myself a sprawling yard and sit beneath a tree.
Breathe deep the sea of pungent soil and velvet grass to see
that I can still imagine, when her perfume beckons me.
[comments] => 2
[counter] => 79
[topic] => 21
[informant] => softerware
[notes] =>
[ihome] => 0
[alanguage] => english
[acomm] => 0
[haspoll] => 0
[pollID] => 0
[score] => 0
[ratings] => 0
[editpoem] => 1
[associated] =>
[topicname] => Lifepoems
)
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