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LOWRY, Malcolm


The Devil was a gentleman


He wrote for the dead, but the ubiquitous dead

Like their own wisdom, and preferred their bed;


He wrote for the blind, yet the polygonous blind

Had richer, thicker things just then in mind;


He wrote for the dumb, but the golden-voices dumb

Were singing their own songs and could not come;


So he wrote for the unborn, since surely, it is said,

At least they’re neither dumb, nor blind, nor dead.