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Found Poetry 340


we begun to be under the gun
no wonder we're wounded
from bullets that graze
with undertones of thunder
hundreds of bundles in mounds
the undaunted soundless
in undeniable ground
you gaze around
and pound and plead profoundly
but no one who leads can be found

This poem was created from Leaves of Grass by Walt Whitman. Click here to get Leaves of Grass.

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