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 All that I had I brought, 
 Little enough I know; 
A poor rhyme roughly wrought, 
 A rose to match thy snow: 
All that I had I brought. 

Little enough I sought: 
 But a word compassionate, 
A passing glance, or thought, 
 For me outside the gate: 
Little enough I sought. 

Little enough I found: 
 All that you had, perchance! 
With the dead leaves on the ground, 
 I dance the devil's dance. 
All that you had I found.

Form: Quintain Comments

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Book: Diverse Voices: The Poetry of Human Rights and the Pursuit of Peace