By Amanda Young
She softly lifts the green grazing-grass
and lowers herself delicately into bed.
Covering over with the duvet-turf,
she closes her eyes to the ivory moon.
Wild horses come close
and rest their heads next to hers.
The paunches of belly-mounds form new hills
like babes asleep in the wood.
Children sing a fading tune to the rhythm of a rocking-horse.
She hums along in her sleep, wild woman sleep.
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