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#logcabin
A log cabin, I'd built for myself, A make shift swing waiting to engulf, I would like to wake up to my snore, Only to snuggle deeper under my pillow... Steaming mug of Coffee in hand, Favourite books at the side stand, A barbecue grill by the banks of the river, With only few birds to share the pleasure... Though time is frozen in this land, It should be racing at the land of despair... I wake up to the sound of alarm, In a clumsy hole called my home.
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May 20, 2016
May 20, 2016 at 8:26 AM UTC
I would like to wake up to my snore
Plant a fertile garden in summer & harvest all of the fruits and vegetables. PIckle all of the vegetables. preserve all of the fruits-leave some Apples for pie. Place pickles and preserves in the darkness of the root cellar. Order How to ****** a Farmhand in 10 Days from the book catalogue. Order the Art of War also just in case Invite Handsome Jimmy Pike from the neighbouring farm over for pie. Get Uncle Abe to cover the dirt floor with planks. As Mama always said a frozen dirt floor is just for the dirt poor. Bake Pie. Place on windowsill. Waft the smell Of hot pie over toward the woodpile where Uncle Abe is chopping wood. Invite Jimmy to play Gin Rummy the evening when Uncle Abe is mysteriously ill of a stomach complaint and sleeping in the barn. Show Jimmy Uncle Abe's tongue and groove method of log cabin construction. Ask Jimmy to show me the **** and pass method of using unmilled logs to **** up against each other without notching. Spike Jimmy's tea with *** Show Jimmy the root cellar. **** up against Jimmy with notching. WITH LOTS OF NOTCHING. Fall pregnant. Tell Uncle Abe and have a shotgun wedding. Bake another special pie.
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Jan 29, 2016
Jan 29, 2016 at 6:28 PM UTC
From the Diary of Miss Emmaline Pointe or How to Survive Winter in a Log Cabin
In an old log cabin In the middle of the woods Eerie quiet around them Still, it’s peaceful Strong arms around him Warmth, heart and home Lips against his jaw Hands against his hips His own fingers roaming in short hair Then running over stubble Backs of knees hitting the bed Tumbling down with gracelessness Deep laughter echoes Blue eyes roaming his body Loving him as if for forever They still Quiet So, so quiet Breaths wisping past ears And then arms again Tight around his body Never letting go Lips against his neck Against his bare chest And against his lips They’ll hold on to each other For as long as time allows A sultry southern voice Breaking the quiet But still a whisper “You’re the best of them, cher,” And it quiets He kisses him Long and slow Making up for what words can’t do He loves him He’s in love with him And he hopes even God won’t contend with them.
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Jul 7, 2017
Jul 7, 2017 at 8:44 AM UTC
whispers in the old log cabin