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September 6, 2006


Resentment: a yacht I used to feel
with drafting sail and canting keel;
once plied upon the sea of life,
then harbored, safe, towards my wife.

At last I chose to seek the sane,
with eyes washed clean of childhood pain,
in one who could perceive myself:
loving, calm, in mental health.

With curving waist and glossy mane,
responsibility her name;
and after just one furtive look
that vixen, in her bed, I took.

An army called respect I sought
finally won though fiercely fought;
and at four-hundred-thousand strong,
I now command this pliant throng.

With this I entered into Freedom:
a province clean and white as Sweden;
and lacking horn behatted men,
I won that land with lake and fen.

Resentment: a coracle I used to scull,
with woven frame and tarry hull;
an angry, hating, righteous maven,
now harbored safe within my haven.


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