The 67 Wind

Far pervading fields of trees,
a landscape with no hope,
the trains no longer journey
to the dreams of wonder smoke.

The cynic speaks of youth naïve,
innocence well lived,
entrepreneurs’ make ‘Documentaries’
so full of lies hard to forgive.

Now at this late hour,
I weep at a place where we once grinned,
yes, I’d give away the future,
for a taste of the, 67 wind.

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