(for the outpouring of poems by many who have never written poems before in Ukraine during the war) There can be no canticles, matins, evensongno waiting for blue irises, cherries to come along in their own season, with four seasons gone.How bravely you bear witness, testify tight-lipped, with scribbles on wings, inscribing verseson the green scum of ponds, passing hearses pattering your lines.
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