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Rated: E · Poetry · Nature · #1377773
Tragic story of how time moves on. Maybe the meter is a bit strange, but I think it fits.
White chocolate bark of aspen lean
Just o'er a rock where drops the air
To bottom lands of forest green,
Blue firs by eyes so seldom seen,
On paths of stone, the ghosts walk there.

Just down that path a structure rests
Untouched by years of humankind
This cabin once was loved and blessed
That has to nature now regressed
But to new beauty now inclined.

At night the whispers of the shades
Surround the cabin in the breeze
Respectful hush comes to the trees
Who know this is a holy place.

For love once raised these cabin walls
And love once filled her noble hearth
Now maps won't mark this spot at all
Where a torrid mercy once did fall
Grace built these four sad ghosts a wall
And history erased her mark.
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