We know the ground
as well as we want,
its traps a horseback
o’er its rocky face
we flew with flapping
wings of youth
we gave names to—
plus to the peaceful
we are drawn to
where the cattle
always feel
like gathering.
Seasons of instruction
in the senses, it knows
what the future does not.
drycrikjournal 
In the end the ground will remember us, for better or worse . . . Fine verse!
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Your fine poem today and Mark Twain line kicked it off. Thanks.
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