Do you remember how those laughing girls

Brought in spring?

Giggling it back into the world

Dancing it down the hillsides.

Don’t you remember

Their warmth in the sun?

The moisture of their skin

The scent of light perspiration

Mingling with an always unknown fragrance.

They were innocent, even in their knowing.

And in the evenings they sang of love

From the edge of the pinking sky.

Harold Lorin






































































































































































































































































































































































































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