This shell of mine so warm
Comforting as nothing else
I sit through out crouching
Over the annals of dreams
And pains that many had
Been through, many years
Perhaps eons; blood and sweat
Poured into the mold of will
Out they come one by one
The eternals and the humbles
Sing alike and sigh alike like
Mothers who have sons
Who gone out to become
The warriors of light; letters
This shell of mine is so warm
And comfortable as nothing would
Out there worldly men seethe
Bees on rotten fruits fly thick
Both mindless, oblivious of
The unborn ones in wombs
They fight the fights of stupidity
Argue, shout, scream and yet
No hope, each step an expletive
They win the cup of a race
Loose many that they never size
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