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Despite the vigor of the world he doth dwell,
The pensive gaze and dropping head of his, that frame
His gaunt physique, and all of those foretell
His prejudice to any diversion or game.
The prolonged afternoon leads evening on
To nebulous night lit with ersatz light
Lining the many streets, the golden time gone,
He omits the fact and nothing could excite.
Astray in irresolution, unable to retire
Without coming to conclusions that he long for,
He sips his drink now and then, still in dire
Straits, perforce thinking like a permanent sore.
Thinking silently about problems, this common trait of people,
Often cause us to be woeful and dismal.