"As you said, yours is a perilous path,

but only if you fear the force of fate;
one way or another, it leads to death,
but you have years left, I think, to be great:
That's what you want, and we'll help you get it –
the Russian Blue is the sign of your pride;
you must treat it well: feed, love – don't pet it –
and it'll keep your head up, heart inside: 
The home in which we stand is a safe place
in which to retreat to tether your dreams,
which lie reckless, unshorn like the grass face
which, quiet, lines off this plot like dead screams:
Your desk is your craft – depend upon it;
it's why you can always write a sonnet."
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