OF TEDIOUS MIND
Oh fetch me the goal post,
for I truly want to move it.
I am tired of the regular array.
Far out, that distant tree-line
beckons.
-
More distant than a sweat in
the freezing cold of Winter,
I see the trees themselves
are moving : Burnam Woods
to Dunsinane, again?
-
How many must recline in
death on that littered field?
A plane of slaughter, some
more stupid war?
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