Never
Tell poetry John
Guzlowski
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German
Soldiers Come to My Mother’s Village On their knees, and one by one, each
man They live in darkness, thatch their low
cottages There is no fat for their lamps. The sole
light This is the only world they’ll ever
know: Listening to their screams and pleading
We
soldiers are only human.
We love
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The
Work He Did in
He
lifts the shovel, sees the dirt, what the guards will say to him. And
he will smile and sing And
my father will shovel
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Beyond
the field and the guards, the gypsy twirling like a girl would turn away, a gypsy twirling singing a child’s song about cows
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XXIV My
father is the corpse without lips He
is the corpse that doesn’t envy He
is the corpse that has made
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