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Poems of my cousin, Ura May
After Coney Island

Coney Island and that throng,
Beaches, ocean, where prairie didnít belong,
The experience was good to go,
At least of that we know.

One last time to walk through
The lobby with small ensemble,
Harp, piano, soprano in red,
I hate leaving this and I dread,

That trip back home again,
But found that it really wasnít a sin,
We ambled along with casual care,
Stopping and going anywhere.

Terre Haute was where we stopped,
While Ura May shopped,
Linda, Uncle and I swam,
All over the damm.

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