Legend
A new poem
by Henri Cole
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On a rise overlooking a valley circled by blue metrical mountains, where the river source lies, a collection of shabby dwellings around a church became a town on a hill with a single gate, a few high windows, a deep moat, and thick perimeter walls in which twenty or thirty families lived, self-sufficient, the women spinning wool, the men hunting with nets and falconry, until, without provocation, their Lord was murdered in his sleep. It takes a special charisma for one man to say to another, “Go forth, kill and be killed.” |
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