On the day of my demise
Do not merry in front of my dying hut
Proclaiming my lost name on a repeated time
Thinking with a mere beating
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Do not feast on leftovers of hard minerals exploiting my offsprings to penury. what a classic poem.
For I am not worthy of the white man's reform; keeping the remains of me in their morgue until my wisdom decay Tell the living to mourn only themselves for its my debt I've been called to pay Do not appease to the gods any of my genuine fowl great ideas and views. a fine poem. tony