Daniel Martin Moore
The Old Measure
as a sigh comes finallyat the end of a regretsome things are just impossibleto forgetmy affections and reflectionsthe many irons in a lasting burnand each extracts its duein its own turnour small measure, the old measureour muscle our mettle our nervemay temper but can't changewhat we deservei have read by my own dim lightand of these matters at handi recount to youwhat truths i canour small measure, the old measureour muscle our mettle our nervemay temper but can't changewhat we deserve
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