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TRUTH SONNET

On the windowsill a drop of sky

Left by a friend a baby blue

Gem reflects the song of small birds incessant

All morning

The sore sun

Does its weeping thing

And I read you

Like these sheets with my body

These sheets that read my body

The tygers

And the wolves invited 

Come right up to the glass

But do not break it

For love of money and meat

Do not break it

Neither do I tear at these sheets

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