| My mother made for me this pear
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| A perfect womb, a modeled lair
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| Where I will grow and eat my share
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| Of pastry rich beyond compare
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| With pressure kneads and shapes she well
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| The fruits of fields she has compelled
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| In shapely sustenance I dwell
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| This nascent nest my carousel
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| She leaves me thus and by the sun
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| I incubate, quicken, become
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| A hatched babe, a newly grub
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| Who praises maven mother’s love
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| Upon my birth see what I’ve found
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| A stercoraceous feast abounds
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| These alimentary gifts endow
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| What ruminant excess allows
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| And I begin to wax replete
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| Unfettered life is but to eat
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| Into the fruit but not the rind
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| Consume and fatten up sublime
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| urges I possess
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| Become a loose and amber flesh
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| Oh sober beauty make me smooth
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| While I await the turning moon
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| Emergent will thou concentrate
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| While August rains facilitate
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| The softening by which I elate
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| Burst forth a gleam to meet my fate
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| The joys of light, a drink so sweet
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| Before it’s time again to eat
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| But soon the victuals I greet
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| Begin, the scarab life complete |