by Max Barry

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Region: Esportiva

When mist is gone away,
No fog to shroud our sight,
We'll think it not okay.

Whole hours wasted by day
Sweet sleep is lost by night
When mist is gone away.

This poetry cliche,
And none to think it slight -
We'll think it not okay.

The fool that follows may
Quatrains and couplets write
When mist is gone away;

But business must sway,
These verses are a blight;
We'll think it not okay.

In the end, we'll all say
With hearts all quite contrite -
When mist is gone away
We'll think it naught, okay?

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