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The Dove walks with sticky feet
Upon the green crowns of the almond tree,
Its feathers smeared over with warmth
That dips lazily down into the shadow .
Anyone standing in that orchard.
So filled with peace and sleep,
Would hardly have noticed the hill
With its three strange wooden arms
Lifted above a throng of motionless people
- Above the helmets of Pilate's soldiers
Flashing like silver teeth in the sun.
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