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modern poetry

skies they were ashen and sober
i am dying
when a deed is done for freedom
two rows of cabbages
they ask me where i've been
there's one that i once loved so much
short and sweet, and we've come to the end of it
beside a stricken field
have we no shame?
i have cast the world
with lips blood red and heart of stone
uplifting, as the wind blew

 



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