Dark children , plastic buckets dangling off their twig like limbs
Like some bizarre fruit
on their way to the tap at the end of the lane, where rusted water run
wave their hands at the Six seventeen rushing past
more of habit than with any hope
The train hoots
Like some bizarre fruit
on their way to the tap at the end of the lane, where rusted water run
wave their hands at the Six seventeen rushing past
more of habit than with any hope
The train hoots
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