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african warrior poem
Poem: Still We Fight
This is where we fight, Frost, snow, hailstones and fire, Through incessant hypothesis for tomorrow’s attire. Our breaths are free, but dices we hold, And he who dilly-dallies shall have his dice taken. Hence our breath we hold and dices we roll, For inevitable it is, lest we are forsaken. In this seeming dudgeon of…
