Spiritual
Living in the reservation
Must have been habitual
Colonization – segregation
This is so spiritual
I can’t bear this anymore
Yet I have to carry on
Doing things I did before
In the years long gone
But it’s not the same, it has
Worsened over measure
Set a picnic on the grass
Try some thoughtless pleasure
Read some poetry, accept
Someone’s deep insights
Anyway, I shall forget
Their spiritual heights
When the sun goes down, I go
To my secret place
There’s no secret in it, though
Just an old man’s face.
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