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Click hereWe stride the earth and crow our power like petty gods
We men who push to rule the fecund world
Yet in our strength and controlling ways
We are weak in the very gift that makes our future
Our inner code is a broken copy of our other half
We carry only the start of life, not its generation
No warmth of nurture in our bellies nor milk to feed
Only the shudder of a spasm brief, pleasure spent
We should treasure the mystery that is sheltered in flesh
And give our lives to shield the mortal flame passed down
Our every sinew bent to serve those who suffer for joy
Who share with us in pain the fruit of our joining
All I create is dead and dry of onward life
My words page bound with no limbs to swell
But the one that knit me whole for this life's path
Is my source, my love, my joy.