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I haven’t seen you since the spring

A hundred days, or maybe two

And I have felt this absence so, my dear

These dreams I shed are all for you


I haven’t touched a stranger’s hand

Two hundred days, or three at most

We keep our distance and our fears, my dear

The mistletoe steals water from the host


Tide keeps rolling in

Salmon rest on gravel beds

The Monarch flies to Mexico

The swift sleeps on the wing

Terra firms doesn’t mean a thing

The caribou know where to roam

The caribou know where to roam


I haven’t gone about the town

Three hundred days, perhaps a year

I haven’t watched the setting sun, my love

The wolf drives out the weakest deer


I haven’t wandered in the woods

A year at least, or maybe more

We calculate the weight of risk, and fear

The prettiest mushrooms, eaten raw


© MarkGSongs 2020

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