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What is the purpose of the human race? I often ponder! The Foureyed Poet.

The Foureyed Poet

Not only do elderly people wait for the end

all living things eventually must transcend

nothing lives forever a time limit awaits

some by old age others the young it takes

the long years of labour with little reward

so much paid in but little is ever returned

every penny counted none can be stored

for most they know it was hard-earned!

The only way to know how somebody had lived

or  begin to contemplate their depth of despair

is to face the same struggle that they did

there must be a strain on partnerships there

the golden handshake for long service has gone

a respectful thought for a loyal staff member

for such long dedication something is wrong

thus the repetitive slog is a dimming ember!

Those with work often count the time to retirement

the ones without regular employment also count

those times on the dole all have good intent

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