Fat sheep, Still then running a tuft of dandelion fluff, So silent the heart stills beating to hear. This place, Call Abruzzo; Tell it here you can see me until when I’m gone again, Not soon. Tall earth, From worn ancient rock folded like starch white handkerchiefs lining baskets of fresh green. The cliffs, Hold close the sheep that graze the terraced fields so high above the heavens hold Its breath. This place; Call up the sky, Tell it here you can find me until when I’m gone again too soon. ©E.R.D.
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A technical marvel, and gorgeous flow.
Metaphors for daysssssssss xxx.
Beautiful imagery, E.R.! I had to look at more images online. I want to go there and play with the sheep now.