ON WRITING AND RUNNING
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Flying gracefully through the mountain tops
Swooping over large fields of crops
The bald eagle is soaring
Over rivers that are roaring
Then he spies the black smoke
And the cities it chokes
And the dead fish milling
From the oil spilling
And the revolutions
Against the institutions
And the people crying
From the soldiers dying
And there’s no solution
On the problem of pollution
And no lending a hand
To your fellow man
Then with one last swoop
With a widening loop
He dies

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    • Aging
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