The Giving Place

October 4, 2010
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The scent was of sweat and gun smoke,
Between two of the same,
Tripping over mounded flesh of their brothers,
Who’s faces twisted in agony and vain

The remaining had no choice but to leave,
Digging shallow graves for those left behind,
Their flesh invigorated the wondrous wood,
Creating a sanctuary of daffodils over time.

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