Found Poetry 1,073

7/29/22

my stick that is now used for balance
used to hit homers
the balls were never walled-in
and on Sundays they flew the farthest
lost, until dogs found them
the stick finds me now
like it found me then
when it finally breaks
it won't be broken

This poem was created from Walden by Henry Thoreau. Click here to get Walden.

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