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The Telegram I feared the day the news would come. It would have pointed edges and leave me numb. He was on foreign soil, watching him go iced my soul, sadly I had to stay. Train cinders swirled beneath my feet, collapse left me feeling desolate, weak, incomplete. Letters came from a distant camp, with free in the corner instead of a stamp. Endless days and nights filled with dread. Lonely hours, scalding tears to shed. It came on yellow paper with a bold, black font. Eyes brimming, words swimming pain in my heart. "We regret to inform you" I could not read it all. The floor loomed to meet my face, strong hands braced my fall. The bearer of the news, in a whispered voice said, "He is wounded, but he is not dead." Closing my eyes I began to pray, needing strength for another day. |
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