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Glamorous weaklings,
how often we ache
how deeply we yearn
as the earth spins around
the sun once
for every day we've
marched through;
brave soldiers we are
on ground that is foreign
the land mines not clear
the steps must be ginger
but brave and deliberate
left right left
how easily we fall
so beautiful, so tender,
as stoic as statues,
yet fragile as dust.
11/24/08
