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Slayer of regrets, old and new, sought by many, found by few.
Has feathers but can't fly. Rests on legs but can't walk.
I am nothing but holes tied to holes, yet am strong as iron.
It holds no blessings in disguise. Its rhymes are aimed at your demise, it's cast only to ruin, Whatever you are doin'.
A prickly house a little host contains; The pointed weapons keep back from pains, So he, unarmed, safe in his fort remains.
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