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My Nationals poem- good luck everyone!


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I stand at the post

The sheep are centuries away

Held by a horseman


At my feet he waits

I watch his searching gaze

And can tell,

Centuries nailed down to now,

That he sees them


And then he runs

Sent out by the

Old shepherd who stands behind me

And points

My eyes shaded by his rough brown hand


He Calls the long years home

Through the sheep

That come straight to my feet.


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