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Don Walker

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Words

The silos of home

They stand guard against the sky

So wide, I feel

Like I’m swimming in God’s eye

 

When we were young, we’d go

To the one playground

I’d swing you high, you’d tell me how

All the trees are taller than the town

 

Since you’ve gone away

I can only try

On my better days

To make my way down by

 

The silos of home

To that one playground

I sit on that swing alone

And tell your memory

All the trees

Are still taller than the town.

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