In fields of Phlox
Do you recall the first place we stopped
On that Wacahoota trail of Phlox?
It was beyond my every imagining
Seeing one as you there gathering
For in all my former Thoreauian desperation
My only flowers were pressed in books
Drying.
Another collaboration with a Robert Jones painting of his parents and my Phlox. It was Bob who was with me on the trip to St Marks where I found the note in the bottle that soon led to Melanie.
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