This stringing of words,
where each seems to fall
like a bead,
where I have lost count
and am uncertain
as to how much longer
the string. And true, I am
tired of counting, and tired
of how few words
do in fact, come back to me,
and how few I know
that never will; in all of this;
unchanging saying, would
make me but a fool to believe
how this, how could this?
ever amount to anything
more than what it is? but string.

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