The Highlands, Scotland
To know their fields I burned
my skin in their summers
To understand their winters I froze
my hands in their ponds
Romance was a shepherd of grass for her
I worded green crowns
Off work there were bird songs
Nights were the ends of our tongues
Don Welch
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To know their fields I burned my skin in their summers To understand their winters I froze my hands in their ponds...
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