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Walt Whitman In The Civil War Hospitals

Prescient, my hands soothing
their foreheads, by my love
I earn them. in their presence
I am wretched as death. They smile
to me of love. They cheer me
and I smile. These are stones
in the catapulting world;
they fly, bury themselves in flesh,
in a wall, in earth; in midair
break against each other

and are without sound.
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COMMENTS OF THE POEM
Brian Jani 07 July 2014

captivating piece of written here Mr Whitman.for a moment i was encapsulatad within the read.

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