When reeds are dead and a straw to thatch the marshes,
And feathered pampas-grass rides into the wind
Like aged warriors westward, tragic, thinned
Of half their tribe, and over the flattened rushes,
...
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I HATE POETSI HATE POETSI HATE POETSI HATE POETSI HATE POETSI HATE POETSI HATE POETSI HATE POETSI HATE POETSI HATE POETSI HATE POETS