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I would lay awake then think
carry myself to the river’s edge
far away from the city
on a horse I would sit
under willow trees I would picnic
among your company
rug and basket beside my legs

We would walk home along dirt cattle tracks
let the horses run ahead
pick white clover
then laugh
standing arms outstretched
in the middle of a Sunday afternoon

Drifting off to sleep
far then further away
beneath the bright warm sun
on that dreamy Sunday