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by Mary Embree
Up on the hillside trees weep
Their branches are teardrops swaying
In the last warm breath of summer
A flicker of a candle; the young are gone
Brave flames snuffed out too soon
Yesterday they marched on burning feet
Fighting for the sins of others
Today like petals drying in the sun
They slumber in the silence of forever
Once their eyes were wide with wonder
At the promise of the morning
But now eased into the bosom of the earth
They stare unseeing
At the blood-red sunset of their dreams
It is said they died to save the peace
But every war is only kindling
For an ever larger conflagration.
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