Clinton, Arkansas


It was a peaceful little town, said the tall grass fields. 

Always full of life, said the pear trees.

People would stop by to say hi, said the stone steps.

Hair clippings scattered all over the floor, said the beauty parlor.

Knock-knock jokes told over and over again, said the old microphone and speaker set.

Little fingers bang on the keys, said the old wooden piano.

Babies rocked to sleep, said the brown cloth recliner. 

Verses of I'll Fly Away sung many times, said the little cemetary up the road. 

Steak, Mashed Potatoes, and Corn on the cob for dinner, said the only resturant in town.

One path to her house, said the dirt, gravel road. 

A hard-working, independent woman, said the John Deere tractor.

Silence had fallen now that she left, said the antique doll in the blue ballgown.

Time passes as we wait for her to return, said the chimming grandfather clock.



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