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Remembering My Brothers on a Moonlight Night


ISSUE:  Spring 1925

A wanderer hears drums, warning him of war,
And that one cry of autumn from a wild-goose at the border,
And he knows that the dews tonight will be frost
With a moon less bright than the moon at home.
O my brothers, lost to me and scattered?
Life is nothing, lacking you! Yet if mails in time of peace go wrong—
What can I hope for, during war?

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