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Saw the slant figure running in the field
A melancholy shadow buried in the mound
I waited for a thought, sad
Remembrance         recollection
Piercing as your lance

If you heard laughter it wasn’t me or I  [correct me Chevalier!]
(Coward watching tilting windmills)

To be sad        engulfed in sadness for you
Valiant man      if you can stand
This song of cowardice

The wind
Thistles
Brown
The afternoon sun of your country stretching out forever
—Your sad countenance on my mind

& I cannot describe or cry
Counting the years
I can’t give back

Not with hearts sacrificed or with blood spilt on earth
—blood spilt dry—
For nothing gives back

Time

Your steps & your gray hair in wind
Round the windmill—tick-tacking the clock—wind nothing!
Helpless air
Swoosh & swirl breathless.

(for @dVersePoets–Thanks for the prompt, Brian.)

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