The Rusty Red of a Dead Riverbed

The rusty red of a dead riverbed
Reminds me of who I used to be;
It once was home, though it remained unsaid. 

My home was not where I slept and was fed,
But there, where I grew up under a tree,
The rusty red of a dead riverbed.

The bright blue summer sky overhead,
It was always a safe place for me,
It was once home, though it remained unsaid.

Along the river bank I would tread,
When I was there, I was always free,
The rusty red of a dead riverbed.

I went there, when from my house I fled,
And to tell the truth, I would often flee,
It was once home, though it remained unsaid. 

But now I am jailed inside, instead,
And with all my being I long to see,
The rusty red of a dead riverbed,
It was once home, though it remained unsaid. 

The End

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