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There is a block buried some where,
That can only be explained,
By trying to force the words to come,
Yet fearing a clash worlds.
When the audience increases,
From old friends to friends of friends,
Who hear the sounds of cloven feet,
So look for a herd of zebra.
Who would not know a clever turn,
Bend or tweak of a phrase,
If it leaped up and bit them,
But could destroy their sincerity,
With weak half hearted platitudes.

The End

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