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Soldier

Listen to poem:
In a bright, hot blue bath of air
The waning day's thick mantle spreads.
Palms rear their green, effulgent heads;
Muezzins call the flocks to prayer.

The sun, in this mid-eastern place,
Is round, and dusty gold, and strange.

If I knew methods to exchange
This place for glimpses of your face,
I'd trade exile in dry Afghanistan
For freedom in a tamer land.


Copyright © | Year Posted 2011




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Date: 6/8/2011 7:56:00 AM
Many a soldier would trade Leo. Fine poem :)
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