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Rondel on Route 120

How still, this country hospital
secreted in New Hampshire’s hills—
the clack of jars of painted pills
is by its lush pine rugs made dull,

and no one here hears any full-
throat yell, though surely someone shrills
within this country hospital
secreted in New Hampshire’s hills,

just as they must wherever skull
is sawed so that the swelled brain spills
out of its shell, and sepsis chills
the clumping heart-blood’s scuttled hull—
even in this country hospital
secreted in New Hampshire’s hills.