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poetry

Besties

Three days south of the border we passed that dead twisted tree,
followed the creek for a half day under deep skies, came at last to the cave,
our faces streaked with dust and sweat, bright-eyed from the ride
We made a pile of our new riches and swallowed cool mouthfuls of water,
Exchanged glances and grins, laughed at our good fortune

I’ve never told you, but I don’t much care for gold or fine clothes.
There we were, and you said “I’m going to rob a train, by myself”
and I said “By yourself?
Like hell!”

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