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Man Is

Man is but dirt of earth, A mere mold of clay; Measured in height and girth, A sculpture per se. Created to console The sculptor's sad heart, He is given a soul And knowledge in part. Alas, it's not enough, Temptation's too great; The serpent's guile too tough: Woman seals his fate. He sees with marble eyes His likeness to God; Lives and in living dies, Becomes again sod.

Copyright © | Year Posted 2005

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