Rocking Chair
The watcher on her porch, alone,
Where Fortune lived in days bygone,
She knows the stories; knows the names
Of all the miners and their claims.
She came out here a slip of four
Calling it home for ninety more.
Shotgun in hands, she rocks her chair,
Guarding the miners and their claims.
She waits for packrats, dawn to dusk,
Who’d cart her town off brick and board,
Taking the markers of her life
With all the miners and their claims.
She loved too well the life that flamed
To say goodbye and limp away
Down dusty streets where whirlwinds play
‘Round all the miners and their claims.
The secrets of the sage-clad hills
Are safely stored inside her head;
Beyond the reach of stranger’s probes
Of all the miners and their claims.
Behind her vague blue eyes, she dreams
Her dreams of better days to come,
When smiling Fortune comes back home
To all the miners and their claims.
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