Playing your hand is not nice,
Future plans eaten by mice,
All in the roll of one dice.

Scour the fields of grain and rice,
Smell the wift of the devils spice,
I but feel the crawl of disarranged lice.

I thought this was to be my demise,
Until he came and asked no price,
I was to be free from those evil lies.

Therein lies my happiness and life,
The one thing that completes my size,
I will cherish you against his wiles.

Such a sweet combination of actions and truce,
Hands that engulf mine in sizes,
For now I am undone by his vices.

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