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With broken feet
The day still mourning
The braying calf you left tied to my post
And I wept for her
And the mound she was fated
And for your silence as you heaved with sore palms spade in hand

And I dreamt of the scattered parchment
And the cradle that it claimed
Alma, wont you come in from the cold? And I woke to the cry of gulls
And the floorboards splintering

And through the smoke and soot
I shivered with a whisper like ice growing over a window pane
And beneath our bed where our daughter hid
Reciting take my song but leave my frame
It’ll be found by the morn scarlet adorned
And they will need something to bury beside the white birch
That covers this coast and the pillars and bones
That lie collapsed upon this bed of burnt earth
And after the war and the funeral
And after a day of argument and reunion
They will need a garden to tend
And a body to mend
And last of all someone to yearn for
When the night is still and full of harvest
They will need a name to beckon

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Ava Marie Poultney, Vermont

5 piece Indie from central//western Vermont. Collections of songs constructed from the memorable remnants of reoccurring dreams, and early childhood.

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