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Poem

by Adam Whitworth

This lesson only grasped through time

Our view emerging in the climb 

 

Its vexed infancy played out the longest:

Our army without guns is the strongest  

 

So sing the old songs, drink deeply

And with tears drying become sleepy

 

To dream swift, golden spears of sun-rays

On the eve of our momentous day

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Sunday 8th September 2024 6:39 pm

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