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In Defence of Magpies
Put your hand
On your heart
And tell me
Is it fair?
That I am cursed
And driven out
My fates been sealed in purile rhyme
Put your hand
On your heart
And tell me
Am I not fair?
White as milk
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Black ballast of scorn
There's a brutish grace in my design
Put your hand
On your heart
And tell me
What you keep there
A tender valve
Tight with blood
A chevron of bone with flesh above
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