The Park
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I feel the voice I love to hear, it soothes
As does the falling snow which coats the swings
Where in warmer weather we would fly and carefree be
As children let to rove a captive world
Which answers ever only to their whim
The sweet sounds you say breathe blanket warm
So close and near and brings a joy I need
Recounting tales of mundane nonsense things
Her voice by many method murmurs "I adore"
Responds to invitations to the shore
Makes reservations happen nevermore
Hand holds hand on grass like lyric syllabi
Want of words, and still expressed within the eyes
Yet ice-shod swings sit silent in the park
Occupied by adults' shadows in the dark.