The fences around the houses
In the town where I grew up.
Bricks are banned,
For they're too tan.
Churches made of wood
That's painted not stained,
Or stone that comes from a quarry
Where the dig pit shines, even at night
Because the rock is so white.
The school is one room,
One mind, one sight.
It serves as a church on Sunday night,
And so, it has a steeple that rises high,
And it's ever so quietly,
Self righteously,
White.
-jenn
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