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Old Soul

As a sit on this star, dim;
I am far away, miles away
From the world in which
The crowd lives, odd
To think my soul whispered
Just a little, but still in
Unison with, Now now
We want it now now-
How could that be?
This century has no place
For an old soul like me;
And maybe in my rhymes,
In my voice and my essays
They will notice my crime
Against correspondence
Maybe they will notice this time
That a set of lines parallel are both
Heading south; when I open
My mouth the words may be
Old English but they still
Will be true.



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