No hatchlings
No champions
Fenceless.
Senseless following of fashion
Closely tailgating evilly-promulgated passions.
Hailing as great one’s own dispatches
As creations, nay, manifestations
Of an able creator!
These unample, puny scratchings
Less than a handful
Hardly scratch the surface
Of the vast surplus
I wouldst but durst not commune.
Alchemisland 
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