Blackout Poetry II
Been working more pieces for the series of blackout poems using pages chosen at random by friends from a book of English poetry and prose, c. 1917.
To the race of men, be mindful:
The glory of kings was first found in the mansion of God.
A lovely grace
Whispered thy dream.
For at dawn
The lady is gone
Like a summer rain.
I confess, friend,
There was nothing left for me.
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