You, my friend,
are a breath of fresh air,
which is weird
because I've known you for years.
You're an open field:
you could be centuries old
and still be lively and fresh,
tall verdant woods watching over you.
And I'm the wanderer,
who stumbles into you
after years lost in the grey,
and finds solace in your light.
I lie in your grasses
and feel the breeze rustle them,
at peace and at home
like an ember in a flame.
-Zero
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