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My father is from Dayton.

He taught me how to Rhyme And listened to my Verses And found within their Vines, A Grape for Wines of Hope, A Taste of the Divine. My dad believes a flower Was perfect-made by Heaven. He gave me what a Poet needs, a Strength beyond the Power. His strength was formed by Mysterious remembrance and Lofty Schools of Thought, of gentle shaded Dreams, And last for a Machine he used: A Typewriter and a Name. Evon. A Dreamer never Changed.

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