The younger boys whose eyes are glimmering with tears. The young women who'd waited for them, now pale with grief. What can they bring but patience? And that last line, see how slowly it needs to be spoken--"And each slow dusk a drawing-down of blinds"--those d's and b's that stop each word, not sliding into the next. And the mournful "ow" sounds.A poet doesn't always deliberately choose to do those things.
from Fleda Brown: Traverse City Record-Eagle: On Poetry: War has inspired powerful poetry
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