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The Cornfield
Alan Tattersall
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It was the corner of a cornfield where the poppies poke up through,
there we held each other as I pointed out the view,
to the left and in the distance is where our Oak tree grows
and behind us through the meadow, the bubbling river flows.
A little further on is where it dances through the Ford,
and the overhanging Willow wipes its face on tarnished board,
that for centuries have coated the Barn beside the road
that used to get its feet wet when the river overflowed.
We both had tears as it was time to say our last goodbye,
then two aircraft made a kiss with their smoke trails in the sky.
It's another twelve long months until I hold your hand again
but one thing that is certain and one that will remain,
the corner of that cornfield and the kiss we saw above
united us forever in a bond of lasting love.
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