Change Poem by Way Lenn
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It’s not the vagrant’s wearied stare that disturbs me so,
It’s my own wearied avoidance of his eyes,
Because how do you tell them ‘No’—there are too many of them.
So I rattle wearily by; Shout after me—too slow!
NOW I don’t mind.
There are too many of them.
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5/5/2024 10:21:42 PM # 1.0.0.1119
