mhall46184@aol.com
Kursk
At a railway junction great powers meet
To blacken the earth with a generation
Of young musicians, mechanics, physicians
Electricians, farmers, painters, and poets
And a philosopher who loves to fish
Ground into blood and screams and scraps of flesh
By the future which some have seen, which works 1
For the dress-uniform closed loop of power
Beneath the Russian sky good young men die
And the tyrants who send them lie and deny
1 Lincoln Steffens
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