It is not a thing of choice or content
It is in all forms a cursed sight
To move away from it, all fight
It bears the stamp of contempt
...
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It is not a palpable thing
But the absence of quite striking
A coolness in its depths
That colors black and white
Into shades of grey
Reminiscent of the rainbow
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It is not a palpable thing But the absence of quite striking A coolness in its depths That colors black and white Into shades of grey Reminiscent of the rainbow