Gleams poems often forgotten , Dylan's nor Emily's
Excavated by those with hearts that sing
Set into strings of gold and white
The mind may forget, the heart though won't
How some of the old verses sing about
Holding hands, how we would scream and shout
Only to return home, and thereabouts
The sun like the stones have faded
Maybe in its allure, not it's essense
But you and I friend, we still sit and ponder
On such hard to understand and lost desires
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