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On The 100th Anniversary Of The Death Of Abraham Lincoln*

a man, complex in his simplicity has gone
unnoticed. his eyes touhed us like
a feather burnt too soon by the ice
of hate. his mouth too often breathed
words not known or too soon for our
closed ears. his work has been the
labor in tears of one-hundred years.
his love has been inhaled by the prisoned
free and exhaled thru their endless
walk to truth. his humbled hands once

held a world swiftly kissed by his
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