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What others trade
In others made
Joy will fade
From constant play
Joy will sway
But constance dooms
Joy of fine
To simply do
Once a thrill
Now a pill
The constant will
Its own kill
Must make change
To feel again
A different joy
The spine enjoys
Like different poems
I now employ
At first joy
Later just coy
Long at rest
They might rebound
Though never again
When first found
{Scroll up for poem or home}
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