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Route 66 and Flies

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On my old Davidson I went riding

The saddest thing I’ve ever seen

My old town is all alone and dying

And trying doesn’t mean a thing

 

White crosses rise up from the sand

Familiar names passing me by

Then I remember just who I am

Old friends dressed in white crosses

Making me cry

 

A hand full of memories remain

Though the town has lost its name

Superman towels were pinned capes

Mud pie in pink ovens baked

 

Never dreaming one day she’d end

But the cruel world she must spin

And lost are never ending friends

Blowing back into the desert again

 

How could this come to be?

They answer; no one wants to live free

They’ve moved into the mega dirty cities

Leaving their smiles in a pile of pity

 

And though I must say my good-byes

In the mirror I see only empty skies

Soon the few who remain

Will be but a memory stain

 

The tilled fields now kneel to the yield

Only rain stained wood panes remain

The house, the memories, the families die

As childhood dreams stream on by

 

No yards with families at play

Only the grazing of counter top flies

The lives left where they lay

Today my town has died

 

And Route 66 is just a sign

 

Comments (2)

This comment was minimized by the moderator on the site

A nice ode to route 66. There are preservation efforts underway but it's not a living thing anymore.

Joshua Hennen
This comment was minimized by the moderator on the site

The death of Route 66 and all the life that sprang from the asphalt, the lives that now border it with white crosses... seems sad, but in a sense necessary. I'm not sure why? Maybe to be forgotten, so that history's past may one day be found, and...

The death of Route 66 and all the life that sprang from the asphalt, the lives that now border it with white crosses... seems sad, but in a sense necessary. I'm not sure why? Maybe to be forgotten, so that history's past may one day be found, and truly missed... lovely poem

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wickedwahine_69
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