(Macbeth, Act 5, Scene 5)
Out, out, brief candle—flicker, fade,
A tiny light in the grand parade.
For life is but a wisp, a flare,
A fleeting moment in the cosmic air.
We light our candles, then they die,
In the blink of an eye, we sigh.
But what if life is not a race,
But just a candle in a cluttered...
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