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Found Poetry 414

10/24/20

Mr.  Rust, please hold this gun
to send it where it needs to go
better if discharged from duty
when you shoot it into soot
because we have no more foot
best to be stuck with knives that cut or thrust
trust to slice meat and butter crust

This poem was created from Walden by Henry Thoreau. Click here to get Walden.

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