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Oh, desperation, how lowly,
for I had once been there,
confined and battered brain did cry
to be set free, but slowly,
how did one know to try?
And yet from unknown listening,
as if my cries were heard,
appeared a short and stubby priest,
pronounced in obvious attire, glistening
expressions of concern.
If humbled be, this man to
me,
this man, he had no hands,
he gave his life to show the way,
and who was I, so desperate be,
to wallow in dismay.
I would not hear him, not at
first,
not predisposed to be
receptive of his telling,
my disarray compelling,
and my mind only dispelling
any obvious assertion through
his generous love for me.
So humbled be, this man to
me,
this man, he had no hands,
he gave his life to show the way,
and who was I, so desperate be,
to wallow in dismay.
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Ode To The Lumberjack
Harbor's Delight
Willow
A Caddy's Lament
My Musing
Frivolity
The Doll House
The Interrogation
He Had No Hands
Fickle Candle
Pine
Prince of Memories
Marsh
Meanderings
Thanks
My Room
Fall at Twelve
Baseball
Khanabad Mice
Dormant
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