A THOUSAND SMOKES

 

Smoke from a thousand homesteads rise to meet the infinite sky

Beyond the dim horizon a lone owl cry

But where are the heroes of bygone years buried?

The swift rivers flow east way to unite with the deep, deep ocean,

Past the green hills, the great plain is glamorous with pink and red;

The sight of the old battle fields still thrill my heart with sad, sad emotions.

 

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