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Bright eyes close before the breaking of dawn.
Cold, bare flesh ebbs on the subtle ripples of time
As young bones become part of the ancient stones they rest upon.
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The stuttering wind no longer whispers through the trees;
It has been silenced, but not forever, by the falling of a hammer;
Proof of the being is a glimmer of silver in the deep.
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A gentle wave offers up the innocent soul to the beckoning saints,
While below the void is filled with a deafening woe
And a mother's grief slips heartbreakingly over the riverbank.
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Oh, Money, how has such a tragedy come to be?
Justice cries out, but goes unanswered ... for now,
And though the future will beg pardon for all to see,
There shall be no dam erected strong enough to stop the flowing,
The ever flowing tears of the Tallahatchie.
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