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113 The Downtrodden To the street, take me, Abandoned by them; This and these be good treatment of me: With kicks, tossing me around them and spitting on me, Nature’s helping hand extended; Insane, host I a host of pest. They will never be thus treated! Spend I frosty nights to pest Exposed. Each of them I carry. But, none of my good hills can, Amongst them none can all these marry: Feed me upon the dump filth not pan, But, wade me not the Nun before any of them. Why this? Nature, let me them their world. (To my good oppressors, to them, to them….) I plea thee screen my sun to brighten their world. ...

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