With my long speedy arm
Launching skyward stones
Would any come to you?
Or roll through empty farms?
Is anyone beyond the hill?
Where my stones fall quickly still?
And do they rest in someone's room?
Or splash in a creek near a ducks bill?
A hill I could easily climb
I am afraid of what I might find
A hillbilly with a shotgun in mind
Or a thousand bees on my hind
So I climbed my mystery hill
To find what I hit or filled
There was nothing there at all
Just a duck without a bill
{Scroll up for poem or home}
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