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Littered Soldiers
Hordes of dead and wounded soldiers
Shrivel, swivel, fly,
Detach from quaking arms uplifted
And gather where they lie.
Children come to romp and play;
The soldiers pelt the lawn,
Loved an instant for convenience.
The children now are gone.
These ugly things are left behind,
Allowed through sloth to be.
Loved and used and tossed aside,
These broken leaves and me.
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