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West Virginia
Run with me through the fields.
Take back the rhododendron
streams which leave us
thirsty for more.
Resolute in our ways,
and sifting through
the burnt brush-bruised
montani semper liberi.
The winds of whimsy are
striking along with the men. The Civil War
tucked beneath the raspy breath
of our grandfather's grandfather's core;
in this covenant vista
there lies muddied moonshine
toasted to the men
buried in the mines, and
etched out in veins of lore.
Immortalized in stone-
limestone-the mountain breaks
down in cool coal streams,
blackened by man and God;
this granite is collapsing.
Stoic dreams stir, the breeze
soft as a lover's summer skin,
tanned by time it drapes
across the valley floor.
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