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April 27, 2004 - A poem about Humanity


Why do we toil,
twixt the furrow and brow,
working human soil,
with a broken plough.

Why do we graft,
life and employ,
such guileless craft,
with little to enjoy.

Should not we fashion,
our own self worth,
based on passion,
rather than convenient berth?

Should not we strive,
for new ways and free,
thoughts to a life,
not travailing debris?

Yet still we build,
these needful foundations,
just adequately skilled,
and a numb generation.


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