Hoof beats, one step at a time,
Press forward, out from the forest trail
Into the clearing where a fence separates
The world of the living from that of the dead
And as we pass by, a thoughtful bow
Of the head in deference to the life
They lived, pioneering the quiet corner
Of farms and forest and the wild
Making a tiny mark on the landscape
Though no notation in the annals of history
Was made for lack of the remarkable existence
Yet, for their solitude they could be heard
Singing and dancing and strumming a guitar
On warm summer nights after their work was done.
Simplicity, sincerity, their hallmarks,
One we could only hope to replicate.
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