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As I was going to St. Ives,
I met a man who had seven wives.
Each wife had seven sacks,
Each sack had seven cats,
Each cat had seven kits.
Kits, cats, sacks and wives,
How many were going to St. Ives?

  Look into my face and I'm everybody;
Scratch my back and I'm nobody.

Goes over all the hills and hollows,
Bites hard, but never swallows.

  I walked and walked and at last I got it;
I didn't want it, so I stopped and looked for it;
When I found it, I threw it away.

Lives in winter, dies in summer,
Grows with its root upwards.

  A man rode to town on Friday.
He stayed there all night,
and came back on the same Friday.
How can this be?

Fatherless and Motherless, born without sin
Roared when it came into the world,
And never spoke again.

  When you look into my face,
I shall never lie;
Instead be but a window into your soul,
whether there light or shadows hide;
As in me many see their deaths
where others see their lives;
In this deny me many try,
but they simply twist their knives;
For though prejudiced to some I may seem,

I am the part of the bird that is not in the sky,
Who can drown in the ocean and yet remain dry.
A last vestige of man that refuses to die.
In mourning I am tossed at your feet to lie;
I begin my job early, devouring your ankles and thighs.
I work my way up, eating your legs to your waist.
And though around midday away I am chased,
I return quickly, To savor the arm of my taste.
As evening falls I enter your lungs, Spiraling down
past your mouth and your tongue.
I feast on your body, your soul, and your mind,
but as darkness falls you shall find
That away I will go, a relief for some;
At least until tomorrow morning comes.

  As destructive as life,
As healing as death;
An institutioner of strife,
Just as prone to bless.
It is all that is good,
Yet with an evil trend;
As it was the beginning of things,
It can also be the end.

As beautiful as the setting sun,
As delicate as the morning dew;
An angel's dusting from the stars
that can turn the Earth into
A frosted moon.

  Creatures of power, creatures of grace,
Creatures of beauty, creatures of strength.
As for their lives,
they set everything's pace,
For all things must come to live
under their emerald embrace. . .
Either in their life, or in their death.

Stronger than steel,
And older than time;
They are more patient than death
and shall stand even when the stars have ceased to shine.
Their strength is embedded
in roots buried deep
Where the sands and frosts of ages
can never hope to touch or reach.

  Inside me the adventurous find
Quests and treasures of every kind.
Trolls, goblins, orcs, and more, await
Within my closed walls for
All those that wish to visit me.
Your hands are the key
To secrets untold,
And your mind will unlock the door.

I run through hills;
I veer around mountains.
I leap over rivers
and crawl through the forests.
Step out your door to find me.

  A golden treasure that never stays;
The coin whose face gives wealth to all.
Strands, nuggets, and dust of gold
are all bought with its shining grace...
And all are more precious than any gleaming metal.

It comes only before,
It comes only after,
Rises only in darkness,
But rises only in light.
It is always the same,
But is yet always different.

  It holds most knowledge that has ever been said;
But is not the brain, is not the head.
To feathers and their masters, 'tis both bane and boon. . .
One empty, and one full.
I cut through evil
like a double edged sword,
And chaos flees at my approach.
Balance I single-handedly upraise,
Through battles fought with heart and mind,
Instead of with my gaze.
  I always come down,
But never go up.



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