November 13, 2008



The rain refuses to stop
Unwilling to let me go
Exploring dead trees
And wet marshes

I run back and forth
To the outhouse
Made by my father
His greatest creation

My clothes have become permanently wet
Cold and depressed
I remember times when children ran around
This deserted island

Sitting, playing
With old toys
I look out into the distance
Across the open water

A boat drives by to deliver The Star

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