and so i sat below at thatch,
and watched the sun fall,
a war waged by a swam of sad stars,
and the foot thumping,
hand swinging creatures saw it not,
all in their own merry made,
none a pale face had,
and be it like the shell sadness in they hide,
the lone sun down did cascade,
to that horizon,
ages gone but still a home provides,
and she closes her eyes,
to the crosses and ploughs made,
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