This crisp dancing, figaro prancing,
Sailors cursed, and sideways glancing day,
Nearly, neatly, drowns us with its slow descent.
An unwrapped undelivered present
To behold.
Some catch a star, Some catch a cold.
Are you still listening
To what you have been told?
Well tell a lie if you must
But roll the butter and cinnamon dust
Of some sweet morsel of your own,
Created and...
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