(spam poem by Edward Desautels)

smoke peppered everything
as we shambled through the dust
and bore our load of sorrow into the future

the old soldiers behind us
lay down along the roadside
like all the rest of them, resolute

we tried to stay our tears
leaving only the ruins
children in their tumbled down houses, looking

all these wonders afforded us little pleasure
taking every life and soul
and glass of wine from the church

unfit for the sickliest smiles
it would be well to leave our posts
and say the unsayable

a detachment came to purify the road
taking sisters, stock, and small sums of ready money
there must be two parties to a quarrel

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