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100,000,000,000,000 poems
He bent right down to pick up his valise
His nasal ecstasy beats best Cologne
The Turks said just take anything you please
One gathers rosebuds or grows old alone
O Parthenon you hold the charger's strings
Were pots graffiti'd over by a slave
Such merchandise a melancholy brings
In purest cradels tha's how they behave
The genealogist with field and fess
In indian summers Englishmen drink grog
Poor Yorick comes to bury not address
But I can understand you
Brogher Gog
Ventriloquists be blowed you strike me dumb
Fried grilled black pudding's still the world's best yum
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