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Short morning poem

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The dinosaur, who left dry tokens Of their sojourn here On our planet floor, Any broad alarm of their of their hastening doom Is lost in the gloom of dust and ages. But today, the Rock cries out to us, clearly, forcefully, Come, you may stand upon my Back and face your distant Short morning poem, But seek no haven in my shadow.

I will give you no hiding place down here.

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You, created only a little lower than The angels, have crouched too long in The bruising darkness, Have lain too long Face down in ignorance.

Your mouths spelling words Armed for slaughter.

The Short morning poem cries out today, you may stand on me, But do not hide your face. Across the wall of the world, A river sings a beautiful song, Come rest here by my side. Each of you a bordered country, Delicate and strangely made proud, Yet thrusting perpetually under siege.

Your armed struggles for profit Have left collars of waste upon My shore, currents of debris upon my breast.

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Yet, today I call you to my riverside, If you will study war no more. Come, clad in peace and I will sing the songs The Creator gave to me when I And the tree and stone were one. Before cynicism was a bloody sear across your brow "Short morning poem" when you yet knew you still knew nothing. The river sings and sings on.

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