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My always home, the place where I was born
At sunrise, on a frosty autumn morn,
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Two dogs deposit tons of poop That I am privileged to scoop.
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An eerie moon lights evil walls that glow in midnight’s hue,
While caterwauls of banshee sound o’er rats and feeding shrew.
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The pitied self, with silent screams, In muted sleep midst missing dreams
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My knight whose armor’s dulled by age and rust,
Whose hair that once was black is streaked with gray,
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When dark clouds rule my island’s skys
And fill my mind with whats and whys
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My outside is a pristine white, a prim and proper house,
I wear is as the maiden wears her chaste, angelic blouse.
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Caught up in sun and sweat and dust,
And never ending trail,
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It was yesterday I think,
As I walked along the hill above the lake,
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by kirbysman
42 lines, 7 comments,
on Jun 28 12:52 PM
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So this is Sauer Castle, huh, I guess you think I care.
I’ve only come here with you cause of Jason’s stupid dare.
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Oh sing to me sweet summer's song,
Oh sing of sun and sand.
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The mountain’s firm beneath my feet,
I stand and face the sky.
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Vivacious is this Tallahassee lass
Energetic with a touch of class
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I sit in peace beneath the willow tree,
A new guitar clutched tight and strummed with joy.
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Oh anger that does cloud my face,
And turn my eyes t’ward thee.
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To all in need please step this way,
No hesitation, come today,
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I never knew the where or when and always wondered why,
When magic comes into our lives, why must we say goodbye?
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With courage far beyond his size,
His actions, oft, are not too wise.
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The sky is dark with clouds and rain
As people pass me by
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Come celebrate with me today,
And sing like n’er before.
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A gun began this house’s tale, a very special gun.
The Henry Rifle was its name and gave Winchester’s son
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The warm waves lap, the sands recede, the sun and moon drift by,
We stroll the shore with heart in hand while searching for the why.
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A shriveled heart, a mind consumed, a soul that twists and turns, A life o’erwhelmed drifts in the lurch, forgetting all it’s learned.
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The gently twisting country lanes that lead from here to there,
Oft laden with the wayfarers who wish to be elsewhere,
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Milady please, your scarf to wear, on this my fated day.
With it wound tight around my waist, I’ll be no warrior’s prey,
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For now at last the story’s told,
Predicted by those men of old.
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The dark now hides the many folk who walk there day by day,
Beneath the shadow cast by death that hides their homeward way.
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November comes, we wish to stay its spell
Of falling leaves and frosty morns as well.
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I’ll not be laughed at now you see,
For what is there is only me.
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He watched ere she might pass this place, as oft she did indeed,
And huddled ‘gainst the blowing rain that env’ous fate decreed
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