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Poke Poem

I am met with a choice of three
A three pronged path of types
to choose one is to to choose my destiny
a budding plant before it ripe's

But this metaphor describes the first of leaf
with hulking bulb and sewing vine
The second a reptile, in shell of hexagonal relief
and powered by the water and its brine

A third and last, bears a flame
which burns eternally, supposing life
But always will burn the same
even through hardship and strife

But alas, all three are picked and taken
and my journey seems like an atrocity
but lo, I am gladly mistaken
for there lay mine, a mouse instilled with electricity.



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