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Shouting her war cry,
And without a mother,
Were the blessing kind.
Such is what I heard
When the branches stirred
In their dialect;
Now I look around
And this bare dry ground
Prompts me to refl ect
No man walks beside
Athene the clear-eyed,
She was born complete
Of the bright-lit myth
Where she keeps her distance
From the shadowed earth;
From the twisted trees
Standing here, for instance,
Catching the sea breeze --
Slow to grow and bear,
Whether here or elsewhere
Cultivated stocks
Grafted to the wild
(Mixture in the shoot)
Able to hold out
For the dusty farmer
Through the longest drought,
Grappled in the rocks;