Woolen bobble hat
Creased old face
With white eyes
Pierce all
That lie ahead
In the last fling
Of what sort of life
Here, in this northern
East coast town
And not, beside
Horse chestnut trees
On the Champs-Élysées
Is it about ambition
Or the lack of it
Is it about birthright
The gifts of the gifted
Or is it contentment
A life always at ease
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