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Lawrence Moore

Giver


The little things that others smile and do

encroach upon my mind for days and days.

Commanded by my own ineptitude,

I shake my fists, but rarely disobey.

It's fortunate for me that I have you

to smooth the wrinkles, make things go away.


So little do I offer for my part;

a little voice is chirping in my ear,

says I was just a user from the start.

You bid my scruples not to interfere,

content that when you wake amid the dark,

you'll search among the shapes and find me here.