How something bares
Virtue being always there
Easily had as air
As room span to able arm.
No, the virgin beholder’s view
Is lost now to me and you
As the stable room is
To the regretful spinner.
Strange isn’t it, that;
How old hat so oft seen as to be plundered of spleen
Can be reseeded with receded wonder
When by strangers they are seen.
Alchemisland 
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