I knew a man, deep in his bones
Had cloud-soft thoughts, where fires had torn
His claws and fangs and iron away;
And he defenseless, could not say
Hard things or hurtful, could not bruise
A single stone, in mirthful ruse,
Nor quash an ant, no pain deride
Or utter things that, still inside
Would cut someone, or wound their pride,
Not in his wildest dreams, accuse
Another, or be stern and rude.
Though he might well be thought obtuse,
Because some things, he'd never choose,
In everything, he took such care;
An angel might cause more despair,
Even though bright wings, he bear.
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