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Poem	Come, let us pity those who are better off than we are. Come, my friend, and remember that the rich have butlers and no friends, And we have friends and no butlers. Come, let us pity the married and the unmarried. Dawn enters with little feet like a gilded Pavlova And I am near my desire. Nor has life in it aught better Than this hour of clear coolness the hour of waking together.
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