absent in your person and subtle
in your work, for you profit
or loss is immaterial but my heartin your work, for you profit
hungers as wit wires my soul for gain
as if to carry away to the beyond
to that world of nothing like a monkeymeanly pushing grain, fruit, and nuts
into those pouches, stuffing speedily
before climbing higher to a higher
branch hoping to carefully avoidin this present height, this world
the loss of funds, faith, and my face
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