November 9, 2011
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Weak palettes of exhausted blue.
Sits aged upon a golden plain.
It’s contents at a crumbling skew,
A household lost for bypast days.

The wind and sun combine in part,
To sweep the crops in cabaret.
Not knowing that their robust ways,
Cause ruin to the structure’s ways.

It slants upon the air’s cruelty,
Holes gaping through once sturdy walls.
So in this field of gold wheat berry,
The unnoticed house sets to fall.

Yet washed-out houses, for few to see,
Often display a somber beauty.

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