The bus line
John Clare
There is a bus line
In our minds
A kindly old man
Who loves his grands
Is calling us aboard
We are heading toward
The ole stucco home
Up the holler
Monnie is there
All her brothers
The two sons
The only daughter Clara
Her best friend Evelyn
Even the Looney preachers son
Everyone down to
Alfred up from the mine all black
The old Crumpler to Northfork
Taking us back
To end of line
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