and old men who shut their fucking mouths for once.
Transformative sunrises and sunsets and starscapes,
Ghost stories, and only moderately tainted ground water.
It's a lot to ask for, a big dream that outlives us every time
but dies in the shadow of bad medicine, greened copper, loud voices but no one to hear you scream.
Somewhere I heard that a bard born to a family of farmers will become a magician
and I say it when I don't want anyone to follow me.
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