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Sara Teasdale - The Broken Field
Work rating: Low

My soul is a dark ploughed field 
In the cold rain; 
My soul is a broken field 
Ploughed by pain. 

Where grass and bending flowers 
Were growing, 
The field lies broken now 
For another sowing. 

Great Sower when you tread 
My field again, 
Scatter the furrows there 
With better grain.
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