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Poem	As I perceive I am dying now and know I will not speak again, will not survive the earth, be summoned out of it again, not a flower yet, a spine only, raw dirt catching my ribs, I call you, father and master: all around, my companions are failing, thinking you do not see. How can they know you see unless you save us? In the summer twilight, are you close enough to hear your child's terror? Or are you not my father, you who raised me?
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