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All you will become
All that you have done
Will go black in the blink of an eye
As will mine
Fabric frays just as the ways
That what lingers surely dies
Whichever role in whatever play
Amongst the cast every one the same
Though pantomime will not be mine
Put a crown on every fool's head
I will not weep for those misled
Nor shall I starve for mouths unfed
Why obscure with poetry
That which the eye so clearly sees?

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