There will come a precious coming
A time when one's slippery grasp
Of how one can,
As with a silver-ore shovel,
Dislodge dark brown earth
(Depravity)
In the already blood-red
Flower bed
Of another, prove to be
Far better than now;
The now of mountains,
Heaps of rose mountains,
Beside hungry-mouthed valleys.
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