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58 LETTERS
When slowly, slowly dying. God! Fifteen
hours in dying! He lay a maimed thing dying, alone upon the
plain.
We often write to mothers, to sweethearts and
to wives, And tell how those who loved them have given
up their lives; If we're not always truthful, our lies are always
kind, Our letters lie to cheer them, to solace and to
cheer them, Oh : anything to cheer them,—the women left
behind. |
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