it took long hours to reclaim
from spring’s recalcitrant blue flame
the strength to live without a name
as worms do with no sense of shame
to have been among the hordes that came
trundling across the horrid plain
we who were the countrymen of fame
the friends of one who will not come again
the flowers mounted on the twig remain
as spring’s recovery of pain
the further agonies of rain
after which nothing is the same
and then the mountains came
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