Dawn Song
Night
enfolds her cloak of holes
Around the river meadow.
Old moon-light stalks
by broken ploughs
Hides spokeless wheels in shadow.
Sentries lean on thorn
wood spears
Blow on their hands, stare eastwards.
Burnt with dream and
taut with fear
Dawn's misty shawl upon them.
Three hills apart great
armies stir
Spit oath and curse as day breaks.
Forming lines of horse and
steel
By even yards march forward.
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