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Proust

Just an ordinary book    
Such an extraordinary thing  
It's a trace of sentient nectar  
It is written with simple dreams  
How poorly we profit by study of Plato  
When other circumstances seem the case  
When could it have come to me?  
I put down my cup, and examined the taste.
I had ceased now to feel mediocre.
Written by Pishashee
Published
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