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A Pict Song

Rating: 2.7

Rome never looks where she treads.
Always her heavy hooves fall
On our stomachs, our hearts or our heads;
And Rome never heeds when we bawl.
Her sentries pass on--that is all,
And we gather behind them in hordes,
And plot to reconquer the Wall,
With only our tongues for our swords.

We are the Little Folk--we!

Too little to love or to hate.
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COMMENTS OF THE POEM
Brian Jani 28 April 2014

You surely know how to wrote, I like each and every poem of yours

0 1 Reply
Josef Begurion 25 August 2009

bhghgf fvgfgfhjd hg PERFECT! ! ! ! ! ! !

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