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sorry poem

stir
above them all, looking down
do you think, my boy, when i put my arms around you
burly, dozing humble-bee
among the smoke and fog of a december afternoon
a pen of steel
looking beyond
look back with longing eyes and know that i will follow
a storm is riding on the tide
how shall i help to right the world that is going wrong
thou unrelenting past

 



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