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Well, Since You Asked... 

A homesick exile under an alpine range
I feel close to a summit—distant, blue.

Did you mean monkhood when you praised the change?
Not even God will talk to you-know-who.

Oh, and the natives? Gorgeous but too good,
Too eager to fill cribs and weed the lawn.

Say Hello to the gang back in the ‘hood
And pretty please think of me—or I’m gone.

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