The silver poplar, a beauty of local fame
An old hag today. The lake
A puddle of dirty suds - do not touch:
The fuschia among the snap dragons cheap and vain.
But why?
Last night in a dream I saw fingers pointing at me
As at a leper. They were callous, stained with work and
They were broken.
You don't know! I cried,
Conscious of guilt.
Bertoldt Brecht
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