A poem attributed to Fisher.

"I am the face you would not own
Though you carve your place
Hidden in the crowd

Mine are the features you never saw
As you stack your thin days
In the tick of tonight’s straw

My legion is the unexpected
A forest turned to masts
Grass blades to swords

And this is the face you would not own
A brother with bad news
Hiding in the crowd

Notes and referencesEdit

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