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Who could harken his voice
Stretched at length like thin wind,
Dirtied by speech, unclear and obscure,
If not the groaning vaults above him, the  Heaven across the pearly gates?
What would give a glimpse of his continence,
Pain-stricken and saddened by the dark,
Unforeseen and unbeknownst to the Time
Called upon by misfortunes.
If Heaven were to be asked what could carry him through hard time,
It would be nothing but his lost homestead.
Copyright: Welkin siskin