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Wanderer's Postcards
 
Where wouldn't I go, honestly?
It's no secret that I have many loves,
still, there are others.

Obviously, Japan still holds my heart,
her cherry-blossomed cheeks,
and paper-lantern glow.

Give Holland my regards,
and let Van Gogh's ghost know,
i tend to chew on the end of my brushes too.

To France, i wave, and the River Seine.
I've cried nearly enough,
to flood her banks like springtime washes.

Dear Stockholm and it's lives,
can you hear my hellos,
echoing from my little farmlands like yours?

God's help is in Denmark,
and the people's love -
although, it may be only for your autumns!

You celtic and fiery Isle!
Pagans' blacks, emerald greens, sheep's white.
Ireland, you're of my kin and in my blood.

My dear brother, Scotland,
I still admire your plaids,
and your never-tiring cobbled backbone.

Salutations and blessings, Romania!
Don't let your fires grow cold,
I will travel with your gypsies soon enough.

I'd wander and wander,
forest and mountain,
beneath rain or scorch.

There's nothing else I know,
except to roam, home to home,
being lent this road for a time.

By southernblood

© 2017 southernblood (All rights reserved)

 

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