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Ode to the rodman/ the surveyor’s helper

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The fingers are rotted right out of these gloves
From damp wood and briers and old congealed blood
Traces of it lie on forest floors, twigs and stumps, and brambles galore
Its not very pretty and it smells bad when wet
But I shall keep it,  lest I forget
The hands that labored for my bread

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About wherearetheheros

just someone my mother might know

4 responses »

  1. Nice ode! 🙂 I love how much you write!

    Reply
  2. coldest winter on record and lots of mud when it thaws.
    good help is priceless
    thanks Deb

    Reply
  3. Oooo, fantastic! Ya, too like your style, it’s very distinctive and the poems very rewarding. this one has me bouncing up and down on my couch, lord knows why!

    It’s clean, precise and vivid.

    Reply

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