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A friend posed me a mystery,
Though posited before,
Will be a good one you'll agree,
Which sure will bend mind's door.
One such left best for mindless fools,
Like poets and their ilk,
For whom it please their fancies, sure,
Will be one smooth as silk.
One to flummox, one to ponder,
To make the soul ignite,
With wonder at the universe,
Contrast shown so bright.
Is mystery really a truth,
Lying outside of range,
Whereupon evil births the good,
Darkness light, familiar strange.
Here then the puzzle or the truth,
Presented to your eye,
To judge universal beauty,
The birthing butterfly?
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