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Drawn from the fields

Their plant roots plucked

Plundered by the pull

Of better days

Smoke heat filled

A ceaseless pounding

Of iron on iron

And sweat from darkened days

Sucked from aching limbs

To cross the grease-hued palm

With shards of silver stamped

But never see the rising gold

Beyond the poplar trees

Or tred the fields

Until the tipping of the Sun

Their bodies smashed

Like breakers on the rocks

And dreams of better days forgotten

Lie choked beneath

A blackened sky

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