I MAKE MY HOMAGE
Though I may never pronounce an 'H',
I try to be hale and hearty. Those things
still seem to count. The herald of Heaven
has not yet left me, and the trumpets and
cymbals I hear. Isn't that obscure? While
so many other rail, I should be ashamed?
-
I harbor no hard feelings, though I would
hesitate to reciprocate in same, for things
I would not understand, nor for angry
attitudes of shame. (And I hope the
hidebound feelings I elicit have a
haven in the healing, and a haul
in all this vivid heat).
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