To: All
211 posted on
09/09/2006 8:05:02 AM PDT by
backhoe
(-30-)
To: backhoe
Where it's nine-eleven all the time
and no Sun sets,
and no clocks chime
where no voice speaks
and no bird trills
the Moon hangs frozen
o'er the hills
The winds are still, they seem to say,
Reflect, remember,
stop to pray...
bttt
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