In a café’s hush, two lovers as pawns,
at dawn’s closed gate before it dawns.
They clutch a paper, creased and thin,
their vows on trial for breathing sin.
The soldiers come with boots of dust,
their eyes demand, “Obey or trust?”
A ring means little, papers less,
they weigh our love in bitterness.
Her scarf is blue; she pins it tight,
a hidden...
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