On the highway to Orillia

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"On the highway to Orillia"

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"On the highway to Orillia"

My eyes watch trees

and telephone poles,

gas stations

and gravel,

marches, flowers, fields of grass

in many shades of autumn.

And I see old flourmills,

their roofs a rusty moss.

I will take these all with me

over every border that we cross.

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