Fall,
and along the pathway,
the tall once-sturdy sunflowers slump
like weary veterans of some cosmic war.
Some, beheaded in summer,
still seem to beckon to passersby.
Others with drooped heads
seem to mourn their decapitated comrades.
One,
its stem bent twisted because of
so many twistings
and battles against poles and fences that hid the sun,
looks up at the others
like an arthritic pacifist
who stayed on the homefront avoiding war
yet who nevertheless...
is haunted by it.
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