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| Reviewed by The Smoking Poet |
12/11/2005 |
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When I was a little girl, I grew up across the street from a great old oak tree... and every day I would climb up into its highest branches, swing my legs in the air, and sing at the top of my lungs. Some years later, the tree was taken down and destroyed to build a church. I was devastated. Surely, there was no greater cathedral to give glory to God than that old oak...
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| Reviewed by Ed Matlack |
11/26/2005 |
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| Any hangin's on that same tree...? ed |
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| Reviewed by jude forese |
11/22/2005 |
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| excellent rhythm and ambiance ... |
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| Reviewed by Sherry Heim |
11/20/2005 |
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Excellent song, Ron. It seems like something that might have been played sitting out on the porch on Dad's autoharp while watching the fireflies dance in the night. I imagined a curl of smoke from grandpa's old pipe while the family sang together after a long day of tending fields and animals. Funny how all this came to mind without you mentioning any of it, but your images were vivid and my imagination was ripened by your words. Nice job, Ron!!
Take care,
Sherry |
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| Reviewed by Kate Clifford |
11/20/2005 |
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| This is a song I could feel being sang by the campfire and enjoyed by all. |
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| Reviewed by Tinka Boukes |
11/20/2005 |
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Beautiful song Ron!!
Love it!!
Love Tinka |
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| Reviewed by E T Waldron |
11/20/2005 |
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Your song arouses poignant memories of history past
Excellent!
Love,
Eileen |
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