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Of ourselves what do we know,
When youth aspires to fake such fame,
That would a gust so vainly blow,
In order to a tempest claim.
While all our senses are entwined,
In self appraisal and desire,
Too complex yet to be defined,
We fearless fight while full of fire.
Full of fire and eagerness,
That war doth soon devour with fear,
Our innocent minds with foul address,
That wipes away the first lost tear.
And we return, but youth's fine fire,
Fades like a flame of lost desire.
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