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Looking back from now

I who never found it feasible to carry bowls of soup to the poor or give quarters to beggars or rear four foster children, but wanted to do something of worth, at times wonder: What could I have done differently? What would have been more valuable than what I did? (What did I want to do? Write poems.) Yet, as the needs of the world alter, as I observe dedicated women walking endangered roads in behalf of peace, and though I wield my pen for them and in favor of trees, birds, crops growing, et cetera, I ask myself: ''Was this not too simple? Should I not have suffered more discomfort?''

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