Who needs drugs when I get high
with the smell of grass
freshly mown
-ah, the sweet bouquet of green,
an inmitable scent,
the raw aroma of newness,
the odour of added beginnings
in yet another cycle of hope, the unending circle of sprouting
and nurturing,
maturing and rejuvenating
whence dying is but a foreign word.
(poet: David Leo, photography: ~maria~)
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