Their Name Was Calico Dawn

A campfire barely burning
Built on someone else’s dreams,

A house out in the country
Devoid of energy,

The grief of something not quite right
Buried in a shallow grave,

Manufactured solitude
And the shunned hip-hip-hooray.

In-between the loops of rising suns
And a thousand well-thumbed maps,

Disasters sprang from stolen books
And the sounds of the railroad tracks,

Their thoughts spent resurrections,
All whispered jamborees,

And inside their battered jewellery box
They collected autumn leaves.

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2 Responses to “Their Name Was Calico Dawn”

  1. Nice blog …I love your blog…man it is so good….

  2. Cheers Andinet – what a lovely thing to say 🙂

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