Fresh Air Camp
Feb 14th, 2010 | By Gary Beck | Category: Poetry | 291 viewsNo mere sight of yellow flowers
opening in joyous showers
will quell the thought that quickly comes,
we must return to city slums.
No brief escape to pathless wood
that brings beauty we never could
hope to find at this guilty time,
when we atone for youthful crime.
We cannot make this forest stay
unchanged until another day,
when we escape poverty’s lies
that imprison us, blind our eyes.
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