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It flies away like wind so free,
Though it stays for centuries on the floor
It has no voice on branches up
Though it cricks like a dangling door
The floor remain its eternal shop
Blood and flesh are just like a leaf
Though some lie and steal world into pocket
And like Methuselah live,
A second comes for us to kick the bucket;
And all the toil are just in vain
So, stop pouring others pain,
Though like saints we sing the saviour's name
Pretentious acts make the soul defame.
Written 16/12/09 by B.M. Adje
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