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My armor feels heavy, gets heavier daily
those hyenas of frustration, annoyance and anger.
I would love to cut the throats of these animals who laugh,
And the other kin — insects of sadness, bitterness, envy,
The jockeying, the battle, the blood aroused and seething,
I hear Mother Eustace tell me to pray, offer up all
No, I want to argue, creak and whine for a while,
Copyright 2006 by Margaret Ellis Hill
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Margaret writes: