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Richter pulled up in front his homestead premises.
It was just short of dusk,
and he swept the premises for any lurking nemesis.
His solar lights would kick in just on sunset.
On this he could bet, having previously his perimeter pre-set.
Richter noted the wet landscape.
Good. His roof runoff tanks should be near the full mark stake.
Richter completed unloading his war wagon.
Taking care with his vintage flagon.
It had been a long day, but he had moved in to stay.
Richter would go to bed, rest his head, after a bit of pray.
It was rather cold. These days you absolutely had to be bold
or you might wake up and find your liberty sold.
That was not a story that Richter ever wanted to hear told.
Freedom was what Richter valued most,
and without being free life would become like so much compost.
Richter smiled to himself realizing he was being polite.
This calm in the midst of the storm,
his shalom, would ensure him a restful night.
No dreams of the looming railway strike,
nor barges stuck on their shrinking river hike.
Nor only 25 days of diesel left as he was hearing.
How would ordinary folks be faring!!
He had heard the warnings.
Richter opened his eyes. It was morning.
CI-414750950 KNIGHT TRUELOVE POEMS