Already Gone

You are the golden sky
Where I reside and
Sometimes hide;
You tint the clouds
With gilded touch,
And I fall as men always
Fall into fields of corn,
In love with the beauty
Of your feminine soul.

You are lightning and
The deafening quietness
Of summer storms;
I lay down in that field
And all constellations fell;
I mowed the bowling green
Where I hoped on Sunday
You would be seen;
Sadly though, deprived,
You had already gone.

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