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There was Mah The, Martha,
Ponca woman who saw
A way out of poverty.
She rose up to be free.
Another Mah The, grand
Lives clear across this land.
She's growing now, I'm sure,
Although we never see her.
Now Martha where are the doors,
Of these houses, walls, floors?
Nothing of romantic vision
For children's growing mission?
All the gentlemen of yore
Are at the store,
Delivering dictation,
To some other nation. |
