Once, long ago it seems,as in a dream,
I saw some peasants on a field,
And fascinated bythe early morning wonders,
I stopped to watch the peasantsworking;
So quaint it all seemed, as though another world

emerging at that fresh break of dawn.
Silence spoke in silentwords:
The morning mist, driven by a playful wind,
Touched thepetals of the flowers
That silently obeyed and bowed before mysteps.
Once, long ago,
I was drawn to take such silentsteps,
That now I stop to wonder how the peasant could have heardthem,
And disrupt his endless toil, cleanse his dirty hands,
Andapproach the wondering child I was.
Once, long ago, I heard the wordsof an old peasant, and oh -
How I now wish to recall them again, as Iin flashbacks do
The fresh scent of that newly cut grass,
Thethundering upon the sky of waking birds,
And struggle of the wakingsun,
To penetrate the drifting cover of never-ending clouds.
Once,long ago,
I heard and saw and felt as I never had
In thatconstrained Universe before.

In the morning's air: an endlessfield, a toiling peasant,
A new wonder, rose before my eyes,
Once, long ago, it seems as in a dream.






The Longest Night by Anonymous, Allston, MA

Love of Italy by Erica R., Phoenix, AZ

Sushi by Joseph L., New Hyde Park, NY



   

By Amy J., Sebring, OH












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