shadow

Lexington Green

The grass grows as it always has silently upon spring mornings within reach of young daffodils and songs of returning robins. Round about the old houses face each other like tight-lipped neighbors while a lone tavern overlooks images distorted by time. Children gambol at its center, old folks grasp its serenity, the revolution has moved on, crumbling walls, raising statues, breaking chains, releasing caged hearts round other greens and villages.

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