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My Father, Ted

My father, Ted
Can take the lead
From bullets aimed
Straight at his head

And turn them in
To gold and tin
To cure the maimed,
Both friend and kin,

By alchemy
And family tree
And things unnamed
And mystery

Because he knows
The wild rose
Cannot be tamed,
It only grows

With rooted love
And hand and glove
And old age framed
By the sky above.

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