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the gone is a fantasma
 
The gone is a Dream

I drove passed my Savannah this afternoon mist covered yet,
the sun rays got through and bathed my dream in
wondrous mystic. I haven`t been here since last summer
my piece of Africa with tall grass and lion pride.
Every summer for twenty years I rode my scooter here and
knew ever blade of grass, olive trees and vines and I was
never attacked by any animals, not even the crocodiles in
the ditches bothered to make a splash.

Only once when I had strayed too far where the mountain
range appears the gypsies had a camp hidden behind
cypresses, their dogs gave chase, and I had to drive for my life.
Perhaps, it was not quite like that but the Savannah was there
a place to dream and be a boy again when summers lasted
forever and trees where for climbing to the top and laugh
at the funny looking adults.

By jan oskar hansen

© 2015 jan oskar hansen (All rights reserved)

 

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