By Don Mattera

I grow tired and want to leave this city seething in unrest and injustice I am leaving
No I have left
Look for me on the banks of the Nile or under some spreading palm I shall be sleeping the sleep of freedom Do not wake me leave me to dream my dream of departure from a city of seething unrest void of pity for I have grown weary of eating the brine and long for jungle fruit . .

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