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The Black March
The sun rays fell in gasps and
 a black shroud draped the world
 as the unwilling procession marched
 down the muted street
 flowers shrivelled and trees bowed
 and I averted my eyes from the deformed faces
 faces, carved with the searing tip of sorrow
 eyes, scrubbed empty and raw
 feet shackled to memories of laughter
 memories of hope
 and the deep black sky
 wept for innocence was lost
 salty rain beat upon the small white box
 so small, yet so heavy on the shoulders
 of those whose child was dead.

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