There is a hill,
 where unwanted live,

 Just outside of town,
 Past the old abandoned,
 gas station,
 where the sign,

 Petrol .99

 Its up a old service road,
 where grass is,
 slowly returning,
 the route back to nature,

 Is is here,
 the road ends,
 But climb,

 for on top of a mound,
 of processed,
 blackened earth,

 We mine the soil,
 in search for,
 the perfect gem.

Originally published on Blogger

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