39 Horses My Mom Loved ONLINE
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The Past
(The sun's tears turn
to whispers in
the dying
leaves)
Oh Blissful Memory, recoil
tight and then shatter
into 6 months of 
fading scenes
Give each long dead moment
a moment of gold before
it crumbles into
charcoal
dust
So they won't feed the fire 
that warms these 
pampered
hands 
Let them rot and feed stains 
of fresh vegetables.