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Life (Poem)

My life is what I make it, I am I,
A spark of God, to cherish, or let die.

I breast no tide, but drift to sea, a weed—
Or shape myself into a tuneful reed.

I work with every fiber till I stand
A beacon, shedding light throughout the land.

Or else I lie and grovel in the dust,
For ever murmuring, what must be, must!

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Eleanor Gray

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