She lost herself in thought,
the way she had in childhood,
chasing stardust and a trail
of flowers to a land of green
hills and open sky, a place
she visits anytime she has
a minute to wander past a river
to a garden where she
and her butterfly friends
attend a picnic under
the watchful care of a little
tree, arms just wide enough
to shade small parties
such as these, and she is safe
in this wonderous place
of her own imagining.
—C.L. Fisher, February 2021
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Poetic Meanderings 