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hands

This poem is not about money & wealth, but about people & their sexes….

Heat maketh we both;
Rich soil’s own waste.
Woke us to its breath
To breed it and eat.

The furnance is bold
To have and to Gold,
Mere crucible to hold
Silver crusts it fold.

Stallion run over care,
Strife lil’ earthen mare.
What stages we share
Sow values not fair.

the poet in the poet

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