Can see myself on this field. Without a care in the world. Daydreaming while puffing on a cigar made of fine tobacco as the smoke let's go in the wide open area. Dumping my ashes on the poppies. Turning them from yellow to light grey. As I peel raw corn and throw husk on the ground I notice the wind blows softer. Smoke from my mouth is as easy going as clouds above. When cigar was gone, I'm still here. Lying down with a mild high I feel like I'm in good company with ashes and poppies.
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