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Their names and dates in stone engraved,

Their mortal coils in coffins saved,

Their worlds unmade, their streets unpaved,

The last to clear the way, the way,

the last to clear the way.


And through that haze of final tears,

To dam and tame the stream of years,

Had seemed the noblest of careers,

To stretch man’s fleeting day, his day,

to stretch man’s fleeting day.


And now that morning lingers on,

We blink into the sun and yawn,

The joys of night and evening gone,

and tell ourselves we’re gay, we’re gay,

we tell ourselves we’re gay.


—“Cemetery Jingle #3”

bascal edward de towaji lutui, age 13


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Framed