Sentiments on Management


Crimson liquid holds a key

Where the pounding comes to seek;

And the pounding of that I speak,

Sure silence— has left you, creep.

Antiques are disdained, but, can

You refrain? And that I wish

You spoke again, would question

All I comprehend.

Your soul has lace, you smile

Made like cake;

And while you begin to redeem,

I’ve finally seen the stakes

You keep and breed. And your quality

That bids haste,

Was never one of mine in the first place.

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