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Mag Mawhinney
It stands alone by the dusty road, With its false-front faded to grey; It was built when the gold rush was on, 'Twas a roadhouse, so people say. Now it is used as a country store, The character and warmth still remain And all the good folks, from miles around, Know the owner by his first name. The canned goods are stacked on its shelves, Some goods are sold by the sack; They're propped in front of oak barrels Near the hardware supplies at the back. Four tables are tucked in a corner Where folks can have something to eat; The linoleum beneath them is worn From the endless scuffing of feet. There's a jellybean jar on the counter Near the register, huge and ornate, And a sign on the wall says they sell Fishing rods, including the bait. All the local folks feel right at home As soon as they walk through the door; Even strangers know they are welcome When they visit that old country store. |
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