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POET'S CHOICE
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despite everything, and I don't mean to sound
spoiled, but please don't think I don't know
how grateful I should be
for what I do have--
I wonder whom I'm praying to.
Maybe Honest Abe himself,
craggy and splendid in his tall chair,
better than God to a kid;
Lincoln whose birthday I shared,
in whom I took secret pride: born, thus I was,
to be truthful, and love freedom.
Now with a silent collective sigh




