Caledon, decaying
rolling fields, seldom walked morning mist, apple orchards, pig farms "Ooh ooh ooh, looking out my back door" quiet farmers, unimpressed by sophistication, people I took for granted land being sold, partitioned and forgotten; loved ones buried beneath town homes memories moved, shuffled and distorted; losing ground, returning is always just fantasy a lonely house, white washed walls, children playing in fields tall, straight, firm, booming; shrinking, bent, frail, meek don't wait, it's not worth it washed out clay hills my childhood still rests on that land
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