Wherever twittering birds
There I will be at the end of the lane.
If rustling poplar trees make sounds like water rushing,
Let me walk there quietly, while pushing,
All noise and traffic away from me.
The bob white call from across the road,
Is all the talk I want up hill blowed,
To a weary heart and soul
Tired of chasing a goal.
Tomorrow once again we will go forth,
To town and city for what that's worth.
Last night there was hail on the tin roof,
Enough to leave me aloof,
From today's firework's pop.
The hail is real, you see.
The other sent because they say we are free,
However, I believe it has more to do with economy.
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