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Run over here come to me in this place
 where the creek goes between the woody hills
 and flows to the pond, where spiders make lace
 where the streams meet and come to end their rills

 Where the dirty old white horse takes his drink
 his tail batting away the buzzing flies
 and the sun comes and turns the water pink
 where the wind blows over the pond, and sighs
 
 The cattails rattle on the northern shore 
 and look over the pasture to a barn 
 old, rusted hinges and a broken door
 and the hay weaving through like golden yarn

 This worn-down place is not a grand manor
 But it's home, and I wave its' torn banner

8-20-2018

Copyright © | Year Posted 2018




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Date: 8/21/2018 1:28:00 PM
Really enjoyed your poem to feel your attachment. Each is deeply attached to his or her home town where lovely childhood days are spent. Warm Wishes.
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Date: 8/20/2018 2:20:00 PM
Brahn, oh this is quite wonderful, it reminded me of my grandpa's farm, those were lovely lazy days of my childhood discovering things and grandpa's horses, your contest really inspires me, and hope I can write you a beauty because I love my country ~
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Bailey Avatar
Brahn Bailey
Date: 8/20/2018 5:28:00 PM
Thank you! I just had the pleasure of reading some of your poems, and a compliment from such a talented poet means so much! What happened to your grandfathers farm, if I may ask?

Book: Reflection on the Important Things