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⡀⡀ ⡀ ⡀
⢂ ⡑⢀
⢈⢆⢧⡺⡜⡜⡌⡆⢆ ⡆⣣⡣⡀
⡡ ⡐⡰⡑⡧⣫⡺⡱⡱⢘ ⡑⢌ ⣞⣵
⢂ ⢬⡸⡮⣫⢧ ⢊ ⡂ ⢜⢪⢪⢺⣷
⢪⣺⢽⡹⣜⢔ ⢀⢈ ⢔⢸ ⡀
⡮⢂⡳⡽⡵⡝⡎⡆⡊ ⢀ ⡽⡌⡇ ⣆
⢽⢈⢸⢹⡪⡯⡺⣪ ⡂ ⢂⢽⣺⢪⢢ ⢦
⣽⢐ ⢜⢎ ⡫⢸⢘ ⡢⡳ ⢧ ⡮⣪⡆
⢂⡳⡑ ⢈ ⡳ ⡀ ⢀ ⢈⢘⡎ ⡺⡇
⡆⡅ ⡃ ⢌ ⡈ ⡢⢕⣐ ⢳ ⡻
⢊⢸⢱ ⡂⢀ ⢕⣻⣦⢀
⡤⡈ ⢁ ⢈ ⢨⢆⢢
⣞⣗⢧⡢⡀⡁ ⢈ ⢀ ⡁ ⣝
⣗⢗⢇⢯⢺⢨⢢ ⢀ ⢱⢹
⣞⡝⣎⢧⢳⡹⡼⡸⡐ ⢀ ⢄
⢀⣿ ⢀⣴⣶⡾ ⢿⣿⣦⡀
⣀⣀⣸⡿ ⢸⣿⣇ SUS ⣷⡀
⣾⡟ ⣿⡇ ⢸⣿⣿⣷⣤⣤⣤⣤⣶⣶⣿ ⣀
⢀⣿ ⢀⣿⡇ ⢿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿ ⣿⡏ ⢴⣶⣶⣿⣿⣿⣆
⢸⣿ ⢸⣿⡇ ⣿⡇⣀ ⣴⣾⣮⣝ ⣻⡟
⢸⣿ ⣿⡇ ⣶⣾⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡿
⣿ ⣿⡇ ⣾⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡿
⣷⣶⣿⣇ ⣼⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣛⣛⣻
⢸⣿ ⢸⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡇
⢸⣿⣀⣀⣀⣼⡿⢿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡿⣿⣿⡿
Thou art more lovely and more temperate:
Rough winds do shake the darling buds of May,
And summer’s lease hath all too short a date;
Sometime too hot the eye of heaven shines,
And often is his gold complexion dimm'd;
And every fair from fair sometime declines,
By chance or nature’s changing course untrimm'd;
But thy eternal summer shall not fade,
Nor lose possession of that fair thou ow’st;
Nor shall death brag thou wander’st in his shade,
When in eternal lines to time thou grow’st:
So long as men can breathe or eyes can see,
So long lives this, and this gives life to thee.