{"id":65789,"date":"2020-06-27T13:58:34","date_gmt":"2020-06-27T17:58:34","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/thepoetrymarathon.com\/blog\/?p=65789"},"modified":"2020-06-27T13:58:34","modified_gmt":"2020-06-27T17:58:34","slug":"5-13","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/thepoetrymarathon.com\/blog\/2020\/06\/5-13\/","title":{"rendered":"#5"},"content":{"rendered":"<p><img loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" src=\"https:\/\/thepoetrymarathon.com\/wp-content\/uploads\/CEFF2E57-2DE9-4042-9842-7A70A217BF63-300x211.jpeg\" alt=\"\" width=\"300\" height=\"211\" class=\"alignnone size-medium wp-image-65808\" srcset=\"https:\/\/thepoetrymarathon.com\/wp-content\/uploads\/CEFF2E57-2DE9-4042-9842-7A70A217BF63-300x211.jpeg 300w, https:\/\/thepoetrymarathon.com\/wp-content\/uploads\/CEFF2E57-2DE9-4042-9842-7A70A217BF63-1024x722.jpeg 1024w, https:\/\/thepoetrymarathon.com\/wp-content\/uploads\/CEFF2E57-2DE9-4042-9842-7A70A217BF63-768x541.jpeg 768w, https:\/\/thepoetrymarathon.com\/wp-content\/uploads\/CEFF2E57-2DE9-4042-9842-7A70A217BF63.jpeg 1280w\" sizes=\"auto, (max-width: 300px) 100vw, 300px\" \/><\/p>\n<p>(Picture Prompt)<\/p>\n<p>Laying, gazing<br \/>\nthrough the window<br \/>\nin the canopy covered meadow<br \/>\nwith you. <\/p>\n<p>The woolen blanket protects our skin<br \/>\nfrom the straw mountain grass<br \/>\nas our shoulders and hips<br \/>\npress against one another<br \/>\nwhile our heads meet at the temples.<br \/>\nOur hands naturally find their indentations<br \/>\nand crevices<br \/>\nthat have melted into the other<br \/>\nover time. <\/p>\n<p>The aspens rustle and sing a song<br \/>\nwith their golden painted leaves<br \/>\nthat flit with the air<br \/>\nwhile the eyes on their white trunks<br \/>\nwatch us with wonder and<br \/>\nsweetly sway back-and-forth<br \/>\nto the rhythm of the wind<br \/>\nand dance just for us. <\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"<p>(Picture Prompt) Laying, gazing through the window in the canopy covered meadow with you. The woolen blanket protects our skin from the straw mountain grass as our shoulders and hips press against one another while our heads meet at the temples. Our hands naturally find&#8230;<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":1450,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"footnotes":""},"categories":[11,7,12],"tags":[],"class_list":["post-65789","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","hentry","category-half-marathon-poem","category-marathon-poem","category-musings"],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/thepoetrymarathon.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/65789","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/thepoetrymarathon.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/thepoetrymarathon.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/thepoetrymarathon.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/1450"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/thepoetrymarathon.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=65789"}],"version-history":[{"count":1,"href":"https:\/\/thepoetrymarathon.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/65789\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":65941,"href":"https:\/\/thepoetrymarathon.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/65789\/revisions\/65941"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/thepoetrymarathon.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=65789"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/thepoetrymarathon.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=65789"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/thepoetrymarathon.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=65789"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}