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Running Through the Gate
Memories of me as a child flash through my head.
Running with my brother through my grandparents' old farm.
Running through rows of vicious reds and luminous yellows.
Rows of dazzling flowers go on for what seems like miles.
Memories of the summers we used to spend with them.
Running around in our swimsuits, chasing with the hose.
Running through the gate to the neighbor’s barn.
Rows of stables containing horses, pigs, and goats.
Memories of the nights we spent catching fireflies.
Running toward luminous bugs to catch them in jars.
Running into the trees when Grandma said to go to bed.
Rows of pine trees bigger than life hid us away.
Memories of what used to be fill my nights.
Running now through the gate to my grandmother's grave.
Running towards the memories of what used to be.
Rows of homes now stand still in the place my childhood ran.
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This is an ekphrastic poem written about Owen Gromme's "Gate" (1927)