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[[preprinted]] 110 [[/preprinted]]

[[underlined]] - From American Poetry Journal - Feb. 1934. 
Bombardment. [[/underlined]]

God's thunders roared, and arched across the sky,
The black battalions of the clouds wheeled by.

Down sped the jewelled lances of the rain; 
The clouds belched fire, the cannons spoke again.

Then through the crystal spears the sun-guard went,
And hung a rainbow on the battlement.
- Kenneth Abrams Fowler

- [[underlined]] Portrait [[/underlined]] - 
He was like
A placid field
Accustomed to
A certain yield.

In the years planting;
Humdrum state
Of quiet and
Legitimate

Was slowly furrowed
Till a find
Of other to
His ordered mind.

Was quite untenable
The tease
Of field mouse to
His tranquil ease.

- Claire Aven Thomson - 

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[[preprinted]] 111 [[/preprinted]]

- [[underlined]] Sounds [[/underlined]] - 
Robins in rain
Thunder grumbling
A scythe over grain
A wagon rumbling.

Apples falling
The rasp of a cricket
A small boy calling
Cows in a thicket.

A sob in the trees
When Autumn comes
The drilling of bees
With fairy drums.

Crunching on snow
A key in the lock
A river's flow
The chime of a clock

Laughter of people
With gifts to leave
Bells from a steeple
Christmas Eve.

- L. Logan Kean - 

Editor - Frances Frost
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