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Culture Flowers Lashed I to Cultural Helms besodden ingrained eyes narrowed to squinty plane seeing not seeing only mine and not mine blind. Culture is the Gardener's Death kind to only one flower; other's bloom in his dark by blindness over-powered. Strained I against the mast my own garden to cultivate but time and my own past cause all my flowers to bloom and wither smelling all the same. Tempted I by soul's desire to look beyond these walls: But I cannot, but lift my spade and plow these same furrows which etch my brow contain my life until my death having known only a single flower: grown beautifully in these straight and narrow furrows. in my life grown in these straight and narrow, narrow furrows. |
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