Block · one region of the page, as the scanner read it. It may hold a whole story, part of one, several, or an advertisement; stitching blocks into articles is the next step. Text is supplied OCR.
Page 4 · column 3 of 4 · from the scan, no model involved
These men Near is Peace grazing their fingertips, But catching up is Death, who at their heels nips. This brutal race is war, Where the stronghearted die, But a far greater being Than any man survives. Men’s squinting eyes saw past The dust clouds and the fire. Saw purpose in the blood and pain And wounds they might acquire. These men are the Land we walk upon. They are the Shining hay bales at dawn. These men are our Schools, our jobs and pay. They are our Government, our literature, And the freedom we have in what we do and say. Shattered bones And shrapnel embedded minds return. Incomprehensible stories, silenced Pieces of horror, slowly learned. The shots heard around the world still echo in our ears These men gave their lives for us These men are our tears. Clarissa Pintado, 18, Washington (Written in honor of Memorial Day)
97.7%