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Oct 2013
If ever you wanted me, pay no mind
To poetry I write or oaths I take
Nor bother with my look, for it is blind
And what I say will change with every wake.

Don't try me, with my patience cut in half-
My hands, no good for holding, cannot feel,
And every man that's loved me once will laugh
To think my palpability was real.

Give not a violet or a sweeter word
Than “No” to me or else I do not hear.
To tell me something true would be absurd,
Since virtue bids me nothing more than fear.

But do deny me everything I ask,
Then punish me for giving you the task.
Smith
Written by
Smith  New York
(New York)   
686
   Timothy
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