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Weighting at the Gate
9 April 1942
They, the Norns, who sit and spin The destinies of mice and men Upon the weave and woof of time Perhaps may understand the rhyme And reason for facilities Enhancing our puerilities. But I, with knobby head and small, Have yet to hear the ringing call Demanding that I rise and shine The brazen altar of the shrine On which they say the fates are stored Because they leave me slightly bored.
So when my friends of karma prate I give to them a swinging gait.
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