When our beginning and our end are both on brokered loan from a twisted clown who sends bolts of lightning down, bad luck. When captains of the rising seas claim mastery, and the world in all its finery is theirs, we who know its agonies are left to cope. Even our miseries are a taunting hope. When green and rolling fields and all our merry city streets are gone, such is sorrow. Weep then new lines to sail upon. jh
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