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Poetry: History

 

Hadrian

The sheep care nothing for history.
A wall, however ancient, is either
an obstacle, or a shelter from
the wind, and hillocks attract, or
do not, based on the menu on offer,
not the likely underworkings.

Still, lambs grow and frolic, and
reach the age of testing, when
little males gallop to the top
and play, like all children, King
of the Hill, recognising, if nothing
else, strategic advantage unchanged
since their forebears bore only
hair.      The landscape sighs, content.
The sheep, caring nothing, pass on.
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