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Need is a sturdy tabernacle
The pockmarked yellow moon
falls through the evergreens
through slender arms
along the still boulevard
driving in a trance
the fragments of music
burst in and out of conciousness
I wonder as the world awakens
in a rising storm of purpose
how many of us are at
the breaking point
how many of us have only begun
the fight of their lives?
poem
by
George Murdock
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