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From doors of despair to my dear almighty

Make a painting with sweats,

And resins from plants ;sweets,

Bitters and thoughtful meets

To form its themes,

Weaved lining of lines,

Hardly the Magnum opus; it might,

But to feed it's beauty to flames,

Just to escape cold,

 And warm hands!

Am I a meaningful painting

Or just a plaything

Lying like a firewood

With no good,

 Isn't it you behind this, o almighty...

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