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Ruins

And this was a civilization
That came to nothing—he spurned with his toe
The slave—coloured dust. We breathed it in
Thankfully, oxygen to our culture.
 
Somebody found a curved bone
In the ruins. A kings probably,
He said. Imperfect courtiers
We eyed it, the dropped kerchief of time.
Autres oeuvres par R. S. Thomas ...
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