Jacob Sartain Poems

I’m from toe head white hair and shovel shaped Native American teeth,
To always wanting a brother but only getting four sisters.
I’m from treacherous, backyard adventures climbing the weathered willow,
To crackling wood on an icy, pitch black winter night.
...

Bloody machine guns killed every man they spotted
Artillery blew them to pieces
Treacherous tanks destroyed armies whole
Wave by wave the men were shot down, in this Great War
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