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A beggar’s Diary
In deep sigh, a flashback
To experiences observed
Again he sighed in rage
As to the kind of person he be
His face as frowned as folded fries
Like that of a night soil man
His hard harmful hand
Like that of a still standing status
He looked and nearly yelled
At my poor pleading palm
Yet, I saw his overloaded pockets
Along he dragged on
Under the weight of plenty
Under the weight of poverty
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