Potter Lake

On top of the mountains,
In the blue of the wake
In the air of the night,
On the way to Potter's Lake.

We walked all those miles
And found just the places,
Where fish, just like popcorn
Put smiles on our faces.

We found a dead one
And pulled off it's branches
She got out the band-aids
And we our lancets.

As we cut into our hands
Did we ask but for stitches
Though few were there found
Down in those ditches

Proceeded did we
To cut through the dark
Carving our walking sticks
Cutting without a spark.

It's sure funny now
That we're back and reflected.
Those times have gone by
And will not be rejected.


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