Our Women
They stand in the shadows
not a dozen yards away.
They listen to the wind whispering unseen,
in the dept of trees.
They hear the somber sound
of our war song,
in the dim hills in the distance.
They crouch low
in the ponderous blackness,
of a cold solemn night.
A night that`s as cold as charity.
A night that will not bear
with reason.
The night we sadly leave home to fight.
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