1955
I am a prophet of peace,
A procurer of leaves;
Catcher of breeze.
Visions of thieves?
No such disease
I live in the trees.
Free from taxes and fees.
Share it with me?
Comparatively, believe
unless you're bereaved
to heave
a shiv
into thine rift
of sand that sifts.
I do uplift
my fist
to the outspoken
of wrist
to tap, even if a twit,
on this pit,
the internet skit.
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