Literature
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The house I grew up in, the only home I ever knew
Where I once played often, in grass touched by dew
All of it now gone, going up in a pillar of flame
Reliving anew what it is to feel pain
My heart crashing to the ground, so like the rafters of my home
Now feeling so numb, my heart as if made of stone
As my tears mingle with that of rain and snow,
Crying in anguish: my children won't be there as they grow
They will not run through the grass in the front field
And turn to see a house, that had loved and had healed
They will not fall asleep on a rainy night
To hear the rain on the roof, or distant headlights in sight
Or wake in the