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i was once a vers libre bard
but now im typing and its hard
cause i have turned into a roach by death
who made me small and short of breath
fate has changed my point of view
since i died and was born anew
and I can see things from the underside
wich as a human I was denied
so i sit and ponder and filosofise
as pin brain human humanise
and i can sit and laff and sneer
as human follies soon appear
but alas the crowning paradox of all
i found a voice but no one hears my call
where once I could upon the redwoods high
now i can only sit and grin and sigh
but some kernel of hope remain
for last measure of my sole and brains
that sum complimentary eye and hear
shall share the wisdom of this unseemly seer
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