Within the marble halls where shadows dance,
A silent wisdom shapes each chance.
"Outshine not the master," old voices warn—
A subtle art, where gifts are worn.
On gilded thrones, egos softly gleam,
Their fragile worth a waking dream.
A spark too bright in youthful eyes
Can summon storms from clouded skies.
Not dullness asked, nor brilliance veiled,
But grace in shining, gently scaled.
Let...
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