CLIMB THIS HILL
It was a small town we entered at will :
there was a soda-counter where we sat.
An old nothing, a coal-mining place, black
with lung and festered. A small graveyard
too small to be big, and too big to be crowded.
Yet it was, with men and their names.
He spoke to the blackened air : no names
were left to talk back. Death. Death,
And the air. Let's climb this hill
out of here.
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