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Rated: E · Poetry · Other · #1752293
A Diatelle poem about leaving the country for the city, only to return later
Small Town Roots

Past
Present
Time we spent
Youth lost, we grew,
Things I said, never meant.
We moved away, found life anew,
So many near us, we’re no longer few.
Yet still our small town roots, called us back to our caste.
This held us together, as the years flew.
T’was time to return, we were through.
Back to the past, we went.
Time to eschew,
City scent,
Cement,
Fast


Jim Dorrell
2/15/11


A diatelle has a set syllable count and a set rhyme.

The syllable count is: 1-2-3-4-6-8-10-12-10-8-6-4-3-2-1,
The rhyme patter is: abbcbccaccbcbba.

It is usually set centered on the page.
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