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Poem 70: Veins...

In my blood dirty


Aren't it in my blood dirty,
Where the tears down above me,
Making be more for cry,


That's what can free,
Having like this a new way of see the things,
In which alway look the number three,


And the prism it's stars rings,
You will rise now,
Right I'm growing as thinks;


Staying in middle around,
Quit myself with witness,
Love no fear of throne golden to have crown.


®Poetry and History Online. All rights reserved.

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