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Some by their substance desire a light to shine,
upon the table where they choose to dine;
Give gifts of flowers fragrantly absurd,
Accompanied by a gentle flattering word.
But time doth pass; the flowers wilt and die,
And the flattering word declares itself a lie.
And all those crowded round the glowing star,
Slip quietly through the doorway left ajar.
One can toboggan down a snow clothed slope,
So long as snow doth fall to give one hope,
The white clad fields from whence the fodder comes,
Will thaw like the echoes of faint distant drums.
For though we stand on mountains to look tall,
It is a long, long slope down which a man can fall.
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