Dreams die hard.
Years ago
I found an ad
For a piece of land
With a creek.
It bordered
The bottom.
Eight acres
Mostly hillside
In Wisconsin.
We bought it.
Paid taxes
Every year.
Dreamed about a cabin
On the hill
Next to the creek.
We have been there
Exactly three times.
Eight acres
On a hill
Down the road
From the maximum security prison
In Boscobel.
We talk about it
When tax time
Comes around
Every year.
Write the check.
Talk about selling.
Then the dream
Comes around again.
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