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Rex Lowman 135 Bitterweed Beware the dark eyes on you in the street And the impersonal glances Of those who pass you by— They have no love for you, though you be their brother; Though you should cry for pity, there would be none. Growing in alien soil, the strange plant dies From rocks that press too hard, that block its root, Sent underground for nourishment in earth That holds no sustenance for such as come Unbidden through the tunnel of the rain. Wherever you may go, the word shall pass That you are stranger there, and you shall know That unreceptive ground and fierce sunlight In the press of hostile faces: they will shout In a bitter voice the wisdom of the old, Who have no will to live nor strength to die And speak the blind prejudice of the stone, And close the shadowy door. Only the bitterweed can sink its root Into the powerful rancor of the soil And blossom forth in strong integrity, Undaunted by a hatred. You must send Your anger forth to rend the strangling rock And with your strength build shelter from the sun; And send them also A word as bitter as theirs, as filled with hatred: Then only will they let you pass in peace. ...

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