Getting Dirt on My New Jeans

Warming olive, forest greens,

‘Neath the trees, in my late teens

Stealing kisses from the fairies,

Getting dirt on my new jeans.

Follow sparkling, honest glows,

Feel the tracks between my toes,

Find the faces in the tree bark,

Down the paths that no one knows.

Now, the sun, it felt so bright,

Shadows dancing in the light,

When the trees had started walking,

And the wind would sing in flight.

Breezes almost feel the same.

Petals proud with eyes aflame.

In my teens my jeans were ripped,

And now the dirt still knows my name

And as I tread down pathways new,

The sky’s a different shade of blue,

‘Cause here the trees are standing tall,

Now that I know that i’ll get through.

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About pasameerday

I haven't got a lot of time to keep you interested, so I'll be quick. I'm a writer from the UK, primarily of fantasy and sci-fi short stories, and occasionally of strange, nonsensical poetry. I like cats, the Sims, and pizza, and I go to sleep to the sound of a keyboard. I've been writing for my entire life; to be honest, I don't think I could ever bring myself to stop. I have a feeling I'm losing you, so I'll bring this to an end before you slowly start to back up, hoping I'll stop talking long enough for you to make a quick getaway. Wait... Where are you going? Hey! Wait! ... Stop!!
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