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The marshall
People are silent in the shadow of a man,
Terrified like an old gran,
Hiding like a sardine in a can,
While eating with a bun.
I notice that venting is now a crime,
Even their gut is empty from time to time,
Still dreading to ventilate the begrime,
Who will expound in every distant tongue?
They complain yet no one enunciates,
Their marshall is a waste,
Spreading hate just to sate,
Disappointed in their fate.
Copyright ©
Shalie Mar Benig
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