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August 23, 1944 - 102 miles west of Paris (Free verse) by Ranger
"Locket"
This field is dead
This road dismayed
The earth has been grazed
Ploughed into bruising waves by steel oxen
Who'd thundered like the sea
Mist & smoke
Breaking beneath a murderous moon
They trod that final road
And closed their eyes at last
Now those tides have been stemmed
All oceans are silent
Remaining only in the whittling of wind
Through empty shells
Dawn air, still, thin and calm
Birds struggle for purchase
While on the ground lies a small gold ring
With a small white face
Staring at the sky
Back to poem details
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