There in tattered clothes he sat,
Lost in the confines of a deep thought,
To himself he muttered; “this must be the devil’s wrath.”
Life had brought him nothing but oats of pain;
Penniless as he was, this made him insane.
He had amassed all the degrees,
But to success he seems not to have paid his fees.
Darkness had spread across his destiny,
All his fat dreams had been made tiny.
Trickles of t…
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