Note: While authors are asked to place warnings on their stories for some moderated content, everyone has different thresholds, and it is your responsibility as a reader to avoid stories or stop reading if something bothers you.
The Thousandth Regiment - 17. "Under several overturned crooks of bridges"
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17. Unter der Brücken eingestürzten Bogen,
Dumpf um die Schanzen dunkelt der Kanal.
Von schwarzen Schwaden rußig überzogen,
Zerfällt die Stadt, das große Feuermal.
Vor Häusern, wo die letzten Balken glimmen,
Leuchten noch Astern im zertretnen Beet.
Ein banger Laut verirrter Vogelstimmen
Kommt durch die Stille weither angeweht.
Rings in den Wegen, die sich ganz verloren
Tief in den fahlen Leib der Landschaft bohren,
Stehn Posten spähend ins Gebüsch geduckt.
Am Mühlenhügel liegt ein toter Reiter,
Ein paar verhärmte Frauen hasten weiter
Der Röte zu, die schwach zum Himmel zuckt.
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17. Under several overturned crooks of bridges,
Channels darken dully around bulwarks.
With filthy plumes of soot covering it,
A city crumbles, in a great fire-stain.
Before homes, where the final floor joists smolder,
Still blaze forth asters in their trampled beds.
The sound of lost birds wailing like refugees
Comes from far away, blown through the silence.
Upon trails, which disappear wholly forlorn
Gouged deep in the pale flesh of the countryside,
Patrols crouch down to search in the thickets.
Dead, an escaped rider lies nears the windmill
While some gray-overnight women still straggle
Towards the weary blush twitching the sky.
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- 1
Note: While authors are asked to place warnings on their stories for some moderated content, everyone has different thresholds, and it is your responsibility as a reader to avoid stories or stop reading if something bothers you.
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