When haggard, dry men grow weary of the pouring rain
They slide through the impossible people they meet
And air external grievances.
Yet internal hungers--
Which their ignorant, gray mothers generated--
Go unnoticed.
And those ignorant, gray mothers,
Sitting on thrones in impersonal homes,
Somehow know nothing of the anger and defeat which--
Because of them--
Are their sons' constant companions.
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