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here is the rose dance here
echoes of wisdom in what we are shown
tired radicals next to the scum they hate
both ends are told us of the human fate
on hungry winds all images are blown
our understanding always comes too late
echoes of wisdom in what we are shown
into a floating world we have been thrown
too much has been recorded on the slate
only the fatuous seek to preach or prate
echoes of wisdom in what we are shown