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A white washed fence

Erected ten feet high

Over ten long days



Bodies pulled

From unmarked graves

Perished under the sun

Periled prisoners

In a time of war



Reinterred in rows

By dark hands

And scarred skin

Working on the former playground

Of wealthy civic tyrants



An arch erected

Inscribed with black letters

Martyrs of the race course



Circular marching

Tossing roses

On holy mounds of death

Irony lost on no one