The Dirt Hills of Avonlea

In the dreamtime my spirit goes

back to the dirt hills of Avonlea.

To stand between the prairies green and gold

and the spreading blue above.

And my companions stand beside me,

the living and the dead.

 

In the golden afternoon we wander

the cool green hills and talk and laugh

and weave the web between our hearts

as ancient magic rises from the twisted grass.

And as the sunset glory paints the west we sit,

feel the wind blow through our hair

and listen to the silence.

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