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it's perfection seen in fields,
running across, i am a grain,
my mark and pain are dots within.
weary, i am in agony,
forced to curse life's uncertainty,
i even blamed lands that bury,
but to myself i am really sorry.
i should not shout my sufferings,
for if i do, i seem not sane,
keeping myself tamed,
in silence, i am in lane.
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