Seventy-five years ago an empire
Attacked a hegemonic republic.
All friends now. Swing your bagpipes round and round,
Dance your sackbuts, strum guitars. Twenty-four
Days ago, a fool, a puffing wind bag
Looked past the bole of an evergreen tree
On the rocks at the edge of the black ledge
And shrank back. Still breathes yet. Swing your bagpipes
Round and round, dance your sackbuts, strum guitars.
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