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The Edge of My Wheat Field
© by Rob Brenckman

Here at the edge of my golden grass field I watch the breeze wistfully play

The grass plays too in joyful dance as the field of blades bend and sway

Pushed by the winds it sings gently in tune the praise of a warm summer day

The kind dry air runs across the top of the wheat dancing and twisting around

I envy its place and wish I could be like the wind, forever unbound

Gusting and bouncing and tumbling in, bending tall grass to the ground.

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