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On the side of a hill in the deep forest green, tracing a sparrow on snow-crested ground,
blankets and bedclothes the child of the mountain sleeps unaware of the clarion call.
On the side of a hill, a sprinkling of leaves washes the grave with silvery tears,
a soldier cleans and polishes a gun.
War bellows, blazing in scarlet battalions, generals order their soldiers to kill
and to fight for a cause they've long ago forgotten

Sunday, December 30, 2012

Torture of Writing

Spent the day doing various chores and staying out of my wife's way. Also tried to get some writing done. All in all I think I got about 1000 words out, but it was split between several projects, and the words weren't all that good. Sigh.

Tomorrow will be better. Tomorrow will be better.

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