Poem -
Tis What Tis
Brush off my shoulders,
Dust off my boots,
I come bearing arms,
Lay yours down don't shoot.
Harboring patience,
Greater than many.
Harboring hate,
No longer they send me.
Shake off the infection,
Nod out the disease.
Make some interjection,
So that you may see.
It is what it is,
But not what it seems.
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