It is not normal, a woman says
Never has been, another said
Ordinary, the men women make
In parks, corners of street, rhyme Daily,
I shut the window I pass messages by
The so-called tender seed of birch blows quietly by
It will be crushed in the office of living
and still may take root So crush
what is given The tender too carry guns
Do not forgive the too forgiven
by Jos Charles
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