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Without You
A palace is but a shack
Limousine a jalopy
A tuxedo is but rags
Gold is devalued to mud
Riches are but poverty
A garden is a desert
Roses turn out to be thorns
The sun dances in the night
Health is pregnant with illness
Laughter gives birth to crying
Music gives birth to mourning
Gladness gives birth to groaning
Everything becomes nothing
Life is but death without You
poem
by
Howard Simon
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