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The Living is Easy


And so it comes round again,
40 whizzing past with scarcely a breath;
Took us less than a year
To make the right decision,
How many more will come
To strain my brain,
As I slave over a hot keyboard,
Cooking up new poems for you?
Here's this, far from perfect,
Too short, short on so many things
I try to say to you,
But it's done.

Well, there's always next year.