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I’ve got the Teach-them-in-the-morning-Playground-duty-Teach-them-in-the-afternoon blues.My head’s like a drum;My feet, cold and sore.I’m feeling so glum;
The light through the blind is a poem,
the way it illuminates air.
And the shadows that fall
on the floor and the wall
are signs that a poem is there.
In the beginning was the wordand the word is ours:
the names of places,the names of flowers,the name of names,words are ours.