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old poem

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At fifteen i went with the army.
At fourscore i came home
On the way i met a man from the village
I asked him who there was at home.

That over there is your house
All covered with trees and bushes
Rabbits had rnn in at the doghole
Pheasants flew down from the beams of the roof
In the courtyard was growing some wild grain
And by the well some wild mellows.

I’ll boil the grain and make a porridge
I’ll pluck the mellows and make a soup
Soup and porridge are both cooked
But there is no one to eat them with
I went and looked towards the East
While tears fell and wetted my cheeks.

Submitted by mirajmglee.

Category: Sad Poems

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