Haniel Long

(9 March 1888 – 17 October 1956 / Rangoon, Burma)

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The Poet


I take what never can be taken,
Touch what cannot be;
I wake what never could awaken,
But for me.

I go where only winds are going,
Kiss what fades away;
I know a thing too strange for knowing,
I, the clay.

Submitted: Friday, January 03, 2003

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