Final edit
When the wind is past the trees
Upon the fields, it falls and flees
Free reign, at last, on past the wit
Upon its way with form and fit
The splendid days will come, at last
So wild and happy, firm and fast
To swing beyond the world's delight
Removing all that's false and trite
And, now, at last, the final edit
And, yet, I laugh, for who has read it
Future dreams. Not for me. Not for this life, it seems.
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