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Showing posts from October, 2014


My baby is a poet.  This made me happy, sad and wistful for deep summer evenings.

Wheatfields The sky is black and the air is dark I can hardly see the hand in front of my face looking up to see pieces of light scattered through the sky like the freckles on your face I close my eyes and breathe in the freshness of the wheat and the pungent onions mixed with the sound of sprinklers I open my eyes and no longer recognize the smell of the earth I hear the rain on my window But it’s not the same I close my eyes again So I can breathe in my crisp air and your scent

Kaitlyn Meyer 14 October 2014 Professor Conner             Sometimes, when it rains at night here, it reminds me of summer in my hometown. I can close my eyes and almost feel myself sitting on my back deck with my closest friends in the pitch black, the only light being the stars. We listen to the sprinklers, which on some nights, sound just like the rain here. I can remember the smell of the wheat fields, fresh and a little e…