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A man of teal with scales of gold Has feathers, rocks among his hold- His stories sit and lie, untold, And none have seen the light

If two asked of his mean or sign: (His treasures lift his gifts benign) "Humility?" or "Work divine?" And naught of them were right

But cursed, those who dare to take The feather and the stone, or break The scales on which the items rake- They'd surely see his might.

An offering of choice, he sings: "A mineral, a clip-of-wing?"