Where between the leaves
Beneath the puddles
of earthly perspiration
lies the source
of sorrow
that our effort
spurns?
When between the praise
Beneath the layers
of mendacious condemnation
does sanity
its voice
dare strain?
Why between the quick
and dead
who share the same
earthly soil
must stolen breath
poached
with others’ sweat
from wilderness be taken
to silence the still
And stillborn?
While the skins of labor
Not only the fur
Might clothe
the vicious few
who never toil!
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