Selection 5 of
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Soldiers' Last Summerby Carol DesjarlaisHides the hunter and forest Hands a frosted towel To the blossoms and bushes Until they blush and bow Out and under the front stoop A few green sprigs of brave Pretend to hide from the brush With death and dare To hold the fort and fail Come morning like sad soldiers Are strewn against the solid sod Ice shattered monuments for their heads. |
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