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Psalm Three

 On the day when my words
were earth.
.
.
I was a friend to stalks of wheat.
On the day when my words were wrath I was a friend to chains.
On the day when my words were stones I was a friend to streams.
On the day when my words were a rebellion I was a friend to earthquakes.
On the day when my words were bitter apples I was a friend to the optimist.
But when my words became honey.
.
.
flies covered my lips!.
.
.

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