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Young Writers Society


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While you ponder this, enjoy a poem:


Death Of The Ball Turret Gunner, The (1948)
by Randall Jarrell

From my mother's sleep I fell into the State,
And I hunched in its belly till my wet fur froze.
Six miles from earth, loosed from its dream of life,
I woke to black flak and the nightmare fighters.
When I died they washed me out of the turret with a hose.


People find it far easier to forgive others for being wrong than being right.
— Albus Dumbledore