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the man of tai-chi

with such sequestered ease

creates a clean calligraphy

of graceful peace:

a centre of concentration

to pump his heart and arteries

with measured arm-motion

and steps of gnarled artistry.

Ong Teong Hean The Tai-chi Man (2010)

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My mother groan'd! my father wept.

Into the dangerous world I leapt:

Helpless, naked, piping loud:

Like a fiend hid in a cloud.

Struggling in my father's hands,

Striving against my swaddling bands.

Bound and weary, I thought best

To sulk upon my mother's breast.

William Blake (1757-1827) Infant Sorrow

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