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Oversensitive To a Snail
My loss, not to notice
With whom coexist I.
My shame, not to think twice
On these fellow creatures
With their cringing natures.
Looked down of their maker
And my accuser-God!
In that tread space, number
Invites too night's lone view.
Love's rued; Life's in review.
Copyright ©
James Watkin
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