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The Cattle in the Lea

Poetic Michael

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The summer air was heavy on the meadow by the stream,

Where cattle flick their tails - I wonder,

What do cattle dream?

They dream of neither morning nor of evening yet to come;

They dwell upon the moment, not the future yet unspun.

Upon the now, not after; of neither when nor where,

Beneath the ancient oak tree in the still of summer's air.

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