It’s Hard To Say
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What if we were borne aloft by birds with strands Of woven gold, and taken high into the mountains, Where they would deposit us beside a roaring Cataract, and what if, at the water's edge, a picnic Basket (somehow dry) lay waiting for us, filled With po' boy sandwiches and oyster stew, And after we had filled our eyes and stomachs, And laid back upon a patch of fragrant meadow Grass, and napped, our faces in the sun, those birds Returned to fly us home? Would all of that be better Than these hours we have spent together, chatting On the porch? © Lawrence Beck 2023
Thoughtful and wonderful poem.
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