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Indian Blankets

In the quiet ebon of morning, Thoughts arrive as droplets from the sky. I’ve expended too much of my seventy-nine years, Waiting on a bus called someday; Now that the bus has arrived I discover, I don’t have the price of a ticket, Indian Blankets don’t populate my meadow, And my time for planting has passed.

Copyright © | Year Posted 2018




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Date: 6/9/2018 8:29:00 AM
That is so sad. Dreams of red and gold.
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