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Someone pours out a licenced measure of grain,
And the sound takes me to where the bitter wind blows dry snow over ice,
That cold whispering.
It catches me in a solitude of pain.
There are people working in this heat.
This heat that leaves me useless and barely able to stand,
It hurts my head and swells my feet.
They give me water,
But water is too thin.
I can drink a sloshing belly full,
And my mouth is dry as soon as I've swallowed.
I cannot win.
I will thirst every moment of every day,
Until I can drink milk.
If I could drink like home and taste that sharp sweet snowie milk,
My mouth would know I had drunk.
I keep my hands to my side, take small steps in the shade,
Careful not to offend.
Look how I have shrunk!
When I get home, I will throw out my arms.
I will stamp and shout and kick the drum!
If I get home.
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[Concept and Site Design: Ellen Million | Website basecode: Ron Swartzendruber]
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