The Mere of Peace

March 4, 2017
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Lead me to the mere where beryl waters sway, take my hand by break of day.

Fresh are the flowers which grow to the North, eyes upturned to mountain silhoutte, their constant praise echoing off the silent valley.

Lay beneath star-speckled sky as smoky shadows shield themselves from the glow of our boundless affection.

Wait with me for eternity, watch as the blooming buds of a magnolia blossom on a peaceful, spring day, and watch as the scolding breath of winter turns them to lifeless, wilted creatures of past.

Wait with me as fall emitts a golden sound on a brilliant, azure horizon, and the leaves crinkle delicately beneath our bare feet. And chase me through wavering, sunlit grasses in the hazy days of summer.

A crown of flowers wound tight round my head, as if I dominated earth, sky, and sea.

A look of unfathomable adoration in your placid, watchful eyes.

The wearing, desolate creature of time does not live in these woods, we are alive with the renewal of seasons, and the existence of our love.

Unchanging, unending. Reality doesn't marr our lives, and we live forever in the hearts of one another.

We withstand the ravaging effects of the earth, and bask in the warm rays of admiration, and the quiet solace of embrace.

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