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The old man would sit and tell us how the soldiers on horses would ride by when he was younger.
He talked about the creak of oiled leather harness and the shine of burnished metal, the snorting stamping prideful horses, the smell of sweat and dust and dung. (more)
They called him the jingle man,
Though not why some might think,
For his pockets did not sound of coins
and he wore no bells on his heels.
He spoke in a monotone,
never wavering in pitch. (more)