As golden hours drift away. The fields are wide, the hills are true, Basking beneath a canopy of blue. A porch, a view, a moment still, As evening touches the rolling hill. With every breath, the soul finds rest, In nature's quiet, simple best. I can hear the senses; I can hear the rhythms of my soul. I can feel the vibrations roll. I can hear the laughter in the trees; I can feel the breeze.
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