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In the Time of Tyrants

All that the hand may touch;
All that the hand may own;
Crumbles beyond time’s clutch
Down to oblivion.
Fear not the boasts which wound: Fear not the threats which bind: Always on broken ground The seeds fall from the mind.
Always in darkest loam A birthday is begun; And from its catacomb A candle lights the sun.

Poem by William Soutar
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