UnPoetia/Selected poem

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Do not mow bleckly o'er that dust mite,

For that hyperspace bypass to make way;

Rage, rage against the dying of the mite.

Though Vogons build their roads for reasons right,

Phlegg creatures may be caballed on the way;

Do not mow wreckly o'er that dust mite.

Tiny germs must we strive to treat polite;

Their frail souls might we trounce by our survey;

Rage against the death of the parasite.

Wild spores we catch and stun from flensome flight,

And learn, too late, by our error we slay.

Do not mow bleckly o'er that dust mite.

But men deserve death for their blinded sight;

A predator worthy of being prey;

Rage, rage against the dying of the mite.

Reduce the heathen from their errant height;

Curse, kill them now with your machines, I pray.

Do not mow wreckly o'er that dust mite,

Rage against the death of the parasite.Main Page

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