Thoughts While on Spring Break

These weathered mountains of old

Colored by the souls who call them home

Enchanted by steeped history

And buildings of ages past.

 

A foreigner to hillscapes

People bumper to—

Hey, can I cut you off?

Craziness which borders insanity,

Leaves me shaking my head.

…And I thought Tampa was bad?

 

A sign to remind passersby

Of smoking muskets and war cries

Stands stoically on that lonesome hill

As I fly right on by.

 

 

 


		
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