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broken heart poem

if i were very sure
some one complained to the master
there are three ways in which men take
in and of itself
mid pleasures and palaces though we may roam
i am fevered
from floor to ceiling
master of human destinies am i
those on the top say they know you, earth-they are liars
all those treasures that lie
the smell of the rose so false, the thorns so true
tell me

 



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