Poor playthings of the man that's gone,
Surely we would not have them thrown,
Like wreckage on a barren strand,
The prey of every greedy hand. (Frederick York Powell)

Poor playthings of the man that's gone, Surely we would not have them thrown, Like wreckage on a barren strand, The prey of every greedy hand.

Frederick York Powell

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hand man poor prey throw wreckage

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