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funeral party standing
Weeping over the grave of their friend
Gravestones dotted around the graveyard
Some old, some new; mossy, all different shapes
Hated soldiers escorting a cart full of bread
A horse, smoothly cantering up to the graveyard, Suddenly
stopping
Rounds of musket balls are fired in amongst the party
People flee and screams are heard
But now only one gravestone is marked for life
With three small holes as a reminder of our history.
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