O my ink!
I found you in the garbage
And sliced you like a cabbage,
And garnished you to manage
my thoughts printed in this page.
I polished your image;
But suffered with your rage,
Isold you in a mirage.
I sought you in the garage,
As you sprouted from the age.
And I found you in this cage
Where you assault my wage,
And made me live as a sage.
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