Ficly

Adrift in a Fertile Meadow

She lay on a blanket of crushed leaves and flowers
Their aroma pungent and sweet
But her mind
It wandered

Left and right
Up and down
Until white seemed black
And inside seemed out

The clouds above her became contortionists
Twisting along with her thoughts
It was only when their tears fell
Upon her open eyes
That she remembered the hand
That grasped her own

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