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With potent, flowery words speak I,

Of something common, vulgar, dry;

I weave webs of pedantic prose,

In effort to befuddle those,

Who think I wile time away,

In lofty things, above all day

The common kind that linger where

Monadic beings live and fare;

Practical I may not be,

But life, it seems, is full of me!

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