Flowers grow in the distance
beyond these leaning hills,

where warmth kisses the earth
and shivering eyes reflect the sun.

How our dreams fall with the light,
to be forgotten with its return.

Memories, like petals to the dirt,
and those endless eyes that watch.

Leaning into the afternoons
I yearn for the sweet of a scent.

From the mountains, to the plains.
From the tastes of open colours.

Flowers grow in the distance.
Beyond these leaning hills.



So, what do you think?

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