The girls are getting married to-day;

They are nineteen, or twenty-two.

Their hair is red, under the hats and veils

And don’t their faces shine with Hope?

The attendants couldn’t comb out

Fear crouched in weavy trellises, I guess.

And hark! Here’s Honor

Standing with a manicured hand

On the base of the spines that wind up the aisle

Away from awareness,

Toward sacrifice with no end,

To applause and organs bellowing,

To what

Purpose?

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