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In Indiana

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The trees in Indiana

Form bowers over our roads,

Shades of green in summer

And in autumn reds and golds.

There is nothing I like more

Than an Indiana drive

On roads that are so pleasant

I’m in no rush to arrive.

In the woods that crowd the roads

There are turkeys, squirrels and deer

And snakes that slither through the weeds,

Engendering little fear.

There are walnut trees, tall pointed firs

And the storied sycamores

To shade the tangled underbrush

For the creatures of outdoors.

Overhead the honking of the geese

Flying by in v’s

And circling silently through the sky

Rides a hawk upon the breeze.

Every spring in Indiana

We seek mushrooms that arise—

Fleeting little delicacies

That spring rain and suns provide.

It’s all part of Indiana—

What a wondrous joy to be

At home in Indiana,

The only place for me.

 Betty Killebrew

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