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IN THE HOLOCAUST OF AUTUMN
by Desmond Egan

VIII

save one person save a world yes
but kill one and
something goes out of everything

that is why we who lost
the provinces of hope
who had our own holocaust in
medieval 1847

all the centuries of exile
in our own country
massacres too many to mention

carry a sadness in the blood
a walk a look an accent
some bitter rhythm a wounded shadow
wear like you
humour as a vest

sensing that each of us has lost
part of what we should have been

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