The Cycle

First a surface is new and slippery

Next the floor becomes weary

Third my bed fills empty

They like those scream folly


And then another time,

My uncle’s blade get soaked; brittle

He likes it cold and wet

As time crawls quickly


What then is necessity?

When dust and dirt convulse?

Certainly, as Time crawls quickly

Worms and rusts overwhelm immensely!

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