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Splendors and Splinters
Love is a many-splendored thing
 They say that, but I don’t
 Even know exactly what a splendor is
 But, from what I’ve seen?
 I’d say that a splendor 
 Is like a splinter
 Only lodged inside your heart, and not the bottom of your foot
 Or the soft pad of your finger as
 You try to fix the treehouse
 Because your father is busy
 It’s easy to take out a splinter
 With minimal pain and crying
 But it looks to me like it must hurt
 To pull out a splendor
 And if love is a many-splendored thing,
 Then your heart must look like a pincushion when you are
 In love

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