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Old Roads I see them as we're riding through The countryside and wonder who Lived at the end of rutted lanes. There is no mailbox that explains. The brush is thick on either side. Here cottontails and chipmunks hide. Old roads must lead to someone's dreams That lie in shambles and it seems They have a sad, deserted air. The folks who lived here, gone somewhere. There is a poignancy I find, In roads and houses left behind. |
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