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by
Eliot
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September
Poems
Jul 2012
Stone Glass
This silver chalice passed to me,
Ornate with family gold.
Shines with wealth for all to see.
The honor in my hold.
Yet I would rather sip from the rim
of my own and not from him.
And carve my own
Glass out of stone.
Those given silver spoons at birth do not always wish to use them.
Written by
September
Victoria, BC
(Victoria, BC)
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