we
could have clung
to
the memories
of
days long gone
spent
in summer grass
singing
‘Rodeo’
and
sounding
like
old coon hounds
instead
of Garth Brooks
but
you went your way
my
rebel sister, you
always
barefoot and blond
with
a Twain charm
and
a boundless thirst
for
adventure
i
should have known
memories
weren’t enough
but
i was never one
for
predicting, was i?
it’s
hard to think about ‘could’
when
the only word i hear
is
the silent, ‘can’t’
so
i’ll just say no more
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