Oh pondering of ponderings,
Oh calamity of woes,
Forever in captivity,
This pocketful of prose.

Not knowing why it can emote,
Such passion, sorrow, pain,
Nor if this Judas pens his card,
For silver once again.

These letters, jumbled once they were,
Now fallen as they lay,
Exposed to be read with foolish pride,
Or jested, come what may.

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