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You know my fame,
I am long dead,
Though you read what I did,
You can't read my head,
Yet you seem to think,
You know me just the same,
So you put it in ink,
And you tack on my name,
And soon it is truth,
My exploits of old,
My death, my youth,
The whole world is sold,
and time passes by,
And I hear Life's call,
As I read with new eyes,
I see you never understood me at all.
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© 1998 Sandra Richards.
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