no hidden meaning in old cannonball
nor in silver quattie lying under grass
i find them and i pick up or i pass
they do not yield their story that is all
any may know today our scope is small
and history is not set under glass
for our perusal life is not a class
since each must fail as the old tree must fall
no wisdom here on this low mountain ridge
just a hard light as we wait for the rain
in patience but without that deeper hope
our fathers taught us we have passed that bridge
and on the other side found just more pain
with endless time longer than any rope
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