Blue

Song included.

He was a homely dirt dobber

I called him Blue.

When you’re old, friends are few.

To his nest and around my head he flew.

Every evening same old flight,

Often times into the night.

Toting his pieces, building his home.

Black dirt and sandy loam.

I spoke to old Blue he was my friend,

cheering him on to reach the end.

The crop dusters came in on a windy day.

Blue found a new home,

far away.

I still looked for him anyway.

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