Neighbors, kindly and good

Get out of my stove

I will not with your birchwood

I will not with your soup bones

That which once moved 

breathes long

rattle thin tones

I will not with your oakwood

I will not with your ash or thorn

Of this world I’ve had my fill

And all the others too

Where be the silence and stone

Crumbled from gilded thrones 

Now get out of my stove

-Thomas Typewriter

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