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How it hurts when thou doth all that thou can
In thy mother's eyes thou art but a botch
Thy neighbor's child stems better; it began.
He doth this and that, all I cannot catch;
Like hatchling, flight remains one sorry plight,
When every step is naught; just rather noise,
When every befalling dissolves in far sight,
Till not to fly becometh a tough choice.
A bird is a bird. He who yearn'th to see,
To journey diverse realms to chase esteem;
Peruse the pages; Life hath such a spree.
He shalt reach full docks, he who thrives to dream.
Belittled child sails raging loathsome seas;
He needed his folks hushing such harsh breeze.