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My Nationals poem- good luck everyone!


Tea
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I stand at the post

The sheep are centuries away

Held by a horseman

 

At my feet he waits

I watch his searching gaze

And can tell,

Centuries nailed down to now,

That he sees them

 

And then he runs

Sent out by the

Old shepherd who stands behind me

And points

My eyes shaded by his rough brown hand

 

He Calls the long years home

Through the sheep

That come straight to my feet.

 

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