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Poetry is the one place.
Where Good and Evil make happy, bedfellow,
Where what matters
Isn't so much,
...
When I go forth to meet my God,
As I must do some day,
There's little that I'll have to bring.
And even less to say.
...
I see young saplings in a field,
Standing in a row.
Their branches reach to heaven,
In perpetual prayer.
...