"I’m glad you come back.” My poems said. From number 1 to number 400, all are alive. But some I could hardly recognize. “Who are you?” I asked. Some too young, some too old, “Each of you is not me, but somebody else.” I said. And they started making noise. “No!” One of them shouted out loud. “You are not you. For you have lived and died For 400 times” --

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