Poem is composed in Mixed Meter,
in order to comvey an "Asymmetrical" ambiance.
The boots moved slowly, Crunching sun-baked clay. A hazy wind down alleyways, It moves with moans Then whistles softly, Quickly gone. A child stands in a doorway Pulling something from his robe. He keys in certain numbers, Only doing as he's told. He waits, then hears a bomb As it explodes. A helmet lands and bounces Near his feet. He shrugs. then merges with a crowded street. Gene Bourne 06-03-14 .
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