No more, we, along the banks of the river meet; the memory in my heart lies sweet.
On leaves in a New England autumn: As a mother with her children, Nature let them play all day.
Meadowlark trills echoing far...Stormclouds gather, Spring's not far.
The meeting amounted to a lesson in masochism by way of intolerant political correctness in all its extremes.
Nice thread, Sham.