In turns our treatise; Hot flashes of insight, Labored over, Lived with constantly Dressed and unclothed, Then expounded, Given reception or no; Colleagues clap, Some angered. Are denounced, praised Given review and words. Families indignant, Friends afraid they `May be spoken of next.' Some say, `what an idiot', Others unearth some past indiscretion Say lays light on character. All this the faith-giver Goes through; days in phase and out. Blame she'll take and then time slips Knots it's cared much of Slides past decades and `We think special was!' But too late for you. Your reward in the thing done. Paint Sculpt What script is this? A book? From you? Ah so! There
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