Don’t be nervous,
Nor do you grieve,
Oh, Bard, soothe ,
In life’s destined gloom.
True,
Callous have ages been,
To man and beast the same.
Often did he trample,
Many a mass massively.
Leaving no marks
Of compassion ,
Still, in papyrus
Did he found
The last bliss .
Moods, thoughts,
Passions and instincts
Had its due blend
In pure minds,
For meager words
To turn immortal,
For...
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