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By Jack Joseph Smith
Slight as strange I whispered to
the wind
Relentisss as refused
aggrieved
His arms around me would not
be wooden, as a fixture, a roof
over my head
The kids ancle tight
The dog way on top
You never saw hell
Now there is hell without
doining wrong
They want to fight
The truth be told
Like tossing stones
Eighty percent white boys
Are interested in kicking ass
Good luck with a groundhog