Groaning, moaning my limbs
Seem to tell me my time comes
Soon, but not today. Dare I
Ask then, them whence
Comes complaint?

Silent, speech is of minds
My own and yours, years
To train them but flesh hath
Centuries to say nothing
And speaks slowly:

"Do you see that body
Oddly, underneath the sand?
Moses! Who have you slain
So to find freedom for few
And new life for none?

Withhold your hand and
Hear me, my words are few
Where speak I like Israel
Soliloquy! Ask not now
Why Earth crieth: Blood!"

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