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Foes
FOES
They pretend to be nice…
Whilst their hatred is buried in ice…
So cold to reveal sarcastic pieces…
That catapulted their prejudice…
Now their conscience is in slices...
Their fate narrow and gamble with dices…
Without facts, quiet like mice…
Whoever honours them deserves it thrice…
Their secrets with no value yet with price…
Extent of their jealousy boomerang twice…
Habitual truth procrastinators to deride themselves,
their lives are always lies…
By Willem Pietersen
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