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Some Palindrome Poem


Are we not drawn onward, we few, drawn onward to new era?
Do, O God, no evil deed! Live on! Do good!
Drawn, I sit; serene rest is inward.
Drawn onward.

I’m a fool; aloof am I.
Mad as Adam.
Now I draw an award. I won!
O, stone, be not so.

Senile felines.
Too hot to hoot.
We few.
Drawn onward.

Are we not drawn onward to new era?
Name not one man.
In words, alas, drown I.

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