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Some
folks are never happy,
They always have complaints,
I'm glad that I'm not one of them,
Although I'm not a saint.
I listen
to them daily,
They ask for my advice,
I tell them once, the way it is,
And then they argue twice.
They have
such negativity,
Or is it just a game,
To see if they can get to me,
And drive me quite insane?
It's like
an epidemic,
That doesn't have a cure,
This sickness spreads like wildfire,
Of that you can be sure.
When one
complains to someone else,
It sets them all on edge,
That person meets somebody else,
And this complaining spreads.
Now here
I am, the guilty one,
Complaining in this rhyme,
I'm guilty of a greater charge,
Committing this same crime.
by David Ronald Bruce Pekrul
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