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A Thoughtful Lass To Her Prideful Lover In Bed

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There are no absolutes: the speed of light,
The perfect love of God, your need for me—
When hungry, even lapdogs learn to bite,
And worm-infested space shall set Men free.

All’s relative, though Albert never saw
What’s plain enough for ganders as for geese:
That iron truth applied to his own law,
To stumbling early work—to masterpiece.

We revel in our youth, in certainty
That we shall not grow old to soil our throne,
And yet the power of hateful entropy
Ensures that each shall die—and die alone.