Problem

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Never ending problems
Arise in your eyes
Nothing can ever stop them
Least you fall to your demise
 
Writing sonnets are included
In this list of woes
Everything I say sounds diluted
Much unlike my prose
 
This third stanza are is the worst
There’s almost nothing left to say
Oh look! A hearse
More words come as they may
 
Now the ending comes along
It’s so much easier to write a song



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