I cannot whistle.

I cannot chant.

I cannot dance.

I cannot tighten skin across a drum.

I cannot cry.

Dying girl, dying boy,

God bless your living bones.

God bless your flies.

I am an old soldier.

I cannot help you.

The world has come to this.

I have come to this.

My children have

come to this

I cannot help you.

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By | 2012-04-05T08:49:41+00:00 December 26th, 2011|The Boy Who Ate Dandelions|0 Comments