I pass a field of new-mown grass;
Its fragrance takes me back
To walking with a Shropshire lass
Along an earthen track.

But, whether that was just a dream
Or happened long ago,
Since then, I’ve let off too much steam
For me to ever know.

And so I stand and watch the hay
That’s making in the sun,
But, in the end, I turn away
To get my journey done,

Yet walk along with head half-bent
And wonder where that girlfriend went.

Photo by Matthew Bornhorst on Unsplash

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