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The Greed of Men


Who wanted without the knowing

And grew without the sowing

Standing there in awkward stance

Viewing all with eyes askance

Asking without reasoned why

Reaching vain to touch the sky

For in whose hands with futile grip

The beams of sun and moon doth slip

And lips that sing the lullabies

Seldom heard but often cried

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Rhan Sterling Henry

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