Old beech crinkles and cracks
like the paper-dry hands that once held it.
Ancient iron rusts and warps,
twists and dulls with age.
Whistles, whines and crackling din
of faraway longago
Sleep now in her wood and steel,
Glass case preserved;
Songs of time, thrum of marching feet
Beat steady silent in that clear prison.
Fear, sweat and tears that tainted her
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