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All English Sonnets


Blood will out in one or other form,
It is in its nature to be out.
This is what nobody can escape,
A thing, one ought to have no doubt, about.

It will out sometimes in clueless fears,
Sometimes in unstopping fortitude,
Sometimes, in uncontrollable tears,
And otherwise in humble rectitude.

You may classify the blood and call
Your skill in it a scientific scoop.
But still know next to nothing if at all,
About the blood apart from its group.

In blood a man’s trust traits dwell,
And other things being equal, blood will tell.

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