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Posted by MFish

Playing with my Cousins,
in our Grandfather's yard.
Running fast, on bare feet,
for it was our thing,
Then I stepped on something.
Ouch! A Bee sting.
Down to the creek; mix up some mud.
Put it on the sting in a big gob.
Laying in the Sun, the mud baking hard.
That was just another day in the yard.
Go back to the creek, wash off the dirt,
test out your foot, it no longer hurt.

Ugliness has risen, in our life led,
where many citizens are begging for bread,
in this great country of ours, broken now,
as there is no work or how
to survive, in this, our own land,
as the virus killed, one hundred thousand.
Where is the outrage? The question why,
when our elected leader, continues to lie?

A trail, a path, a rutted road,
marked the journey of the old Toad.
He left the Bog he lived in,
starting his life anew, where it began.
From Bog to trail, through the trees,
hiding in daylight under branches and leaves.
He made his way toward the town,
where his family lived, near the Sound.
Water he craved, back to the Sea,
for this journey is not about him,
but more about the man I be.
I must go now; the light grows dim
as our journey in life is short,
from the time we were born
until life does abort.

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