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Only a great soul
would choose to be born
into the early morning darkness
of late November
near the norther edges
of this republic of fear
under a waning moon,
drawn forth from the lithe body
of a dreadlocked dancer
by Mennonite midwives,
delivered into the arms
of a once jaded revolutionary
who finally discovered
his most radical act
was to believe
life was still possible.
How could a dying empire
not be shaken
by such audacious hope?
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