Amongst my varied pastimes, I find an insatiable attraction to quotations for the profundity of thought, and often their meditative value. I write copious poetry, frequently
inspired by bits of imagination I've acquired somewhere. Occasionally, I'm reprimanded, and told in no uncertain terms, this or that piece is in poor taste, etc. Such is the case with the poem:
Memoirs...Of A Cunning Linguist
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