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The Gate
Ancient graying wood of
Canted posts
Swaying yellow grasses
Dance across
Rusty flaking barbed wire
Containing no more
Than a fading image
Of flicking horse tails
And stomping hooves
Still dutifully clasped
Connecting the rotting rails
A single coil of braided metal
Holds fast to the
Gate
Which now swings only shadows
Across a dying field
Forgotten
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