I love saying twentyleven.
Good Dreams
Day warm, and drenched in golden light
I ride my bike down a narrow country road.
Out across the land the fields grow green
in rows, and gentle sweeps of hill and dale.
The road leads back to a farmhouse, large,
built of county orangey-red brick,
surrounded with trees. Warbles and tweets—
birds’ song the only sound.
I know this place, this peaceful, perfect place.
I don’t know why.
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