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How music fought its way through.

At noon a girl came into the dining room of our canteen (relief kitchen really).

She had pilgrimaged from the Northern to the Southern front with nothing but a dusty violin case.

She was glad to take a few spoonfuls of barley soup, her case on her knees.

Each of us could see the strength in her straight shoulders.

Before she disappeared, she tried the bow out across all four strings for us;

which made the small scars in her face turn bright red.

In recognition we rapped on the table with our knuckles for a long time--

Unknowingly we welcomed the survival of a classical theme.
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Author:Piontek, Heinz; Fontenot, Ken
Publication:The American Poetry Review
Date:Mar 1, 1993
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