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So often I would itch
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while the world tilts
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Here is a map of our country:
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Which of you knows how not to part the pebble on the beach from its colors?
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come and go while I stay gripped to pine and the sugar of existence runs through
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From now on,
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flinging itself forth in winter
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As a sandy track-rut changes when called a Silk Road:
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Oh swirling petals, all living things are contingent,
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If you want to know the correct time,