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Some Kind

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I remember the days of September, so many dreams ago. When the winds began to whistle and the leaves turned brown, before touching the ground. Then grandpa making them mulch for the winter garden of some kind of peas. 

It was actually a zephyr. But in my mind it was "The Little Engine That Could," steaming down a railroad track, burning wood, as I heard granny in the kitchen boiling porridge. Dressed in a torn robe from Sears and Robuck. But she was some kind of beautiful.

Gone is the white picket fence and the swing on the porch. But I still see shadows of my old dog, Slider. And in the distance, I hear the choo-choo. 

God Bless the memories of it all. I still have grandma's robe stored in a box down the hall.

 

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