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'Burrows

It hides
It spins
Never wanting to be found
Never settling and always amove
It runs, It cradles
but never full rocks the cradle
Of life it dance
and in death it is made whole
To repeat its somber cycle
of life, death and the sillyness in between
To serious it is taken
To much of it is imbibed
for all things, good and ill
come from and head to
Moderation
Ouroburos
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September 19, 2012
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