WHEAT FIELDS

Up ahead, mountains stand firm.

The names once remembered pass

with streets now foreign to me.

Houses line tree covered lanes where

dogs bark and kids point.

Its my town, the buildings in know

and shops I visited.  They appear familiar

but are shadowed with gray from my past, like seasons,

they all blend into memory of what once was.

I pause by a field of wheat.  Strong

winds create great waves like the

oceans I remember as a child.

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