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Poetry archive 3

August 4, 2006

In which I continue to inflict my old poems on my readers.

After Jacques Roux

Wherever the shady clerics come
The pressure of an inky Thumb
Detains desire, while all things High
Are mapp’d out plain before the eye.
They deftly finger from the Blue
Promissory notes long due;
From faces formed of Robes and Hoods
They attach for their Master lands and goods.
Their Master’s name no man may guess.
They buckle their boots with a silver cross.

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