Февраль 2012
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All day I walked abroad among the rubbled tales,
Shocked at each wall that stood on the street like a liar; Loud was the bird-rocked sky, and all the clouds were bales Torn open by looting, and white, in spite of the fire. By the smoking sea, where Christ walked, I asked, why Should a man wax tears, when his wooden world fails?
— from A City’s Death by Fire, Derek Walcott
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