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The roof the fiddler played on
Poems
Mar 2018
Title
Fine grain sand
Slips through thy hand
And the wind takes you away
The highway demands,
People praise God's plan,
And the wind couldn't carry me away
Times change,
The prosperous count their gains,
Sometimes you never feel the wind blow
Lonely emerald eyes
May always watch the sky
And wait for the wind to find you again
Written by
The roof the fiddler played on
28/M/Minnesota
(28/M/Minnesota)
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Nayana Nair
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