Cacti fans
¶ 1
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I could not score; I dared not preen
And yet the egotist in me, still caused a scene
And now this facile tally, oh so low
Is seen as some concomitant blow
So I must face, the angry hordes
From among the many, not one applauds
They deserve, so much more
That’s the essence, as they implore
And so I graft, and chase more quickly
But as the drought continues, they grow more prickly
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