Dry Golden

This is the oldest poem I still have, possibly 2008, not really sure. I have a terrible habit of throwing away my work and everything before 2008 is lost.

Far away I remember the fields,
Dry golden,
Days when the corn was taller than us,
And we trampled the crop to make rooms,
Sometimes naked,
Ah such is life.

And later the fields were gone,
Houses and rooms,
Cars and roads,
And we were not innocent,
The golden dry rooms,
And the sunshine.

And later the desire has gone,
Once we wanted so much.

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