We never know how high we are
Till we are asked to rise,
Then, if we are true to plan
Our statures touch the skyes.

The Heroism we recite
Would be a normal thing,
Did not ourselfes the cubits wrap
For fear to be a king...

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Люблю этот стих...
Я кстати не знала, что она была нетрадиционной ориентации...