at ninety-two
tells me about the one room
school house
in nova scotia.
his horse,
his cow.
the old stove where
his mother
would keep biscuits
warm.
he talked about the wealth
of milk and butter
on the farm.
how the gate swung.
how
the rooster crowed.
the corn grew.
i can see in his
soft blue eyes,
that he wishes he was
forever young.
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