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Rated: E · Poetry · Drama · #2263879
Way down in Mississippi, barely a hill
Way down in Mississippi
Over by that muddy river
On top of the hill we snuggled.
Doubting the title ‘mountain.’
At 806 feet
Little Woodall,
Like a beacon called us.

Made six feet taller,
Our seat on Jeep roof,
Under the stars,
Nearer the ghosts of that war,
Than to the modern world,
Aims at a long love.
In the Mississippi night,
No one loves Woodall like I love you.

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