The hateful doubtful fearful nasty
From the high cliff of the year
From which one either leaps
Or is lifted off by death’s
Delicate snatchings
Like chocolates from a box
In seasonal wrappings
To plunge into downwardness
And darkness the double’s
Fine tailoring of truth
To take the feathers for the goose
To place a crown on the uncouth
And on one’s neck a noose
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