This morning’s rain
takes me to a town
that once lived in the
radio
A widow lady bakes
biscuits
for her boarders, the
schoolmarm
dreads the muddy boots
the blacksmith longs
for a drink at the saloon
with the swinging doors
the parson stands behind
the church and wonders why
he ever left the city
the sheriff knows
the rain means trouble
A town that once lived
in the radio
and still lives in my
boyhood
dreams of valor in the
rain
JRMcF
johnrobertmcfarland@gmail.com
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