Graeme Edge
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Be it sight, sound, smell or touch
There's something inside that means so much

The sight of the touch
Or the scent of the sound
Or the strength of an oak
With roots deep in the ground

The wonder of flowers to be covered
And then to burst up
Through tarmac
To the sun again

Or to fly to the sun
Without burning a wing
To lie in a meadow
And hear the grass sing

To have all these things
In our memories hoard
And to use them
To help us
To find...