Forgotten Meadows of the Past

I followed in the footsteps that she once made.
A long-ago Lady in a dress of muted brocade.
With basket over arm, her fingertips traced the grass.
Midsummer morn in the Forgotten Meadows of the Past.
Yet I walk in the cold air and the wind whistles shrill.
A deep ache in my bones with a sea fog chill.
In a blind mirror I walk with my sister from long ago.
Hidden from a sight that only dreaming can bestow.

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