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Comments about Johanna Fields
The fountain had a slow stream that was running free,
water sparkled as it flowed into the palm of the hand.
A father of time, sat reading an almanac at the table,
as the hour glass slowly dropped grains of white sand.
The old porch swing, swung back and forth in the breeze,
pushing care free in the spring air, in one of the four winds.
The sign was an article of faith that expresses God’s work,
the art was a symbol of the past, reflecting now and then.
In the distance was a whisper, then a whistle of a loud
sound of the freight train, running on the train ...