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My place

The place I go to

it’s always there

as real as it can be

its real to me.

Somewhere near but a map will never show

 

It’s a house

a pond beside

and trees large and green

a winding path

a shady porch.

Not in a town but nearby

its quite most of the day.

 

I'll find it I know

and when I do

it will be my time.

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Comments

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Stephen Gospage

Tue 15th Mar 2022 16:42

A very touching poem, Bill. Thanks.

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