Horse of many colors,
wreathed with smoke that issues from
a controversial "weed"
while your one bridge burns behind you:
you are but a fantasy
of what our Crawford might have been
if "Diego" had instead
been a "Francisco" farther north.
Yes, our mascot frolicked here
in fields of fragrant grass,
but chewed and swallowed,
not inhaling. Did we stronger grow?
Or did we too in later years
adopt that pony's happy grin
and wave a peace sign while enjoying
transcendental bliss?
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