Trauma, to my head bleeds my thoughts astray.
Drama, in my cold house with a stenchy spray.
Osama, blow my mind from the agonies today.
In summer, will the light from the sun guide the way?
If a farmer, finds his rest in the stacks of the hay.
Will a pharmacist take a pill and reunite with the clay?
(Inspired by the shocking outcomes of rural postings)
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