...those were the summers that swam
bare-skinned into midnight, drowsy
and bruised by ease, slumberous opium
while blue-black woods, the river
and its harboured dreams
could not be wakened.
Distant and late, bells would ring
of white heather, wild hyacinth
and lily of the valley, faint
as whisper and secrecy of wind
slipping through the leaves.
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