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The · Word · Pirate


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oh Lord pluck that child from corner of my sight,
not the object, which is precious, but my eyes
grant shadow's cool calloused lies
and let light blister not my tenderness,
yield I could to rough flesh of night
to shade me from such accident

I can know no virtue in suffering,
and its lack, I can withstand,
yet between the two I now know
in shadow's passing understand
oh Lord, I saw what casts it
I pray don't make me show it
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