<h3> <SPAN name="blood"></SPAN> BLOOD FEUD<br/> </h3>
<p class="poem">
Once, when my husband was a child, there came<br/>
To his father's table, one who called him kin,<br/>
In sunbleached corduroys paler than his skin.<br/>
His look was grave and kind; he bore the name<br/>
Of the dead singer of Senlac, and his smile.<br/>
Shyly and courteously he smiled and spoke;<br/>
"I've been in the laurel since the winter broke;<br/>
Four months, I reckon; yes, sir, quite a while."<br/></p>
<p class="poem">
He'd killed a score of foemen in the past,<br/>
In some blood-feud, a dark and monstrous thing;<br/>
To him it seemed his duty. At the last<br/>
His enemies found him by a forest spring,<br/>
Which, as he died, lay bright beneath his head,<br/>
A silver shield that slowly turned to red.<br/></p>
<p><br/><br/><br/></p>
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