FOR the poor body that I own I could weep many a tear: The days have stolen flesh and bone, And left a changeling here. Four feeble bones are left to me, And the basket of my breast, And I am mean and ugly now As the scald flung from the nest. The briars drag me at the knee, The brambles go within, And often do I feel him turn, The old man in my skin. The strength is carded from my bones, The swiftness drained from me, And all the living thoughts I had Are like far ships at sea!SourceThe script ran 0.001 seconds.
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