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By LondonEye, Randolph, NJ

Sentenced to surface, to bob--
To float but not to feel
And to misplace my sacred fishes
On poles I cannot reel

Sweetened fruit a fiendish fruit,
An imp with timely feet
Scratches fingers, with such joy,
Relishing defeat

Ripples elevate-- and retract
And deserts never grace
Nor shall they cleanse the crevices
Of my a-paling face

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