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Flickering, fluorescent, dimming light
A hideous face, a terrible sight
Preparing the tools needed for fight
His job is tired, his work is trite
Yet it was of him that the poets did write
His claim to his home was a mere birthright
Still he worked dutifully to weld with flames so bright
His peers respected him for his power to ignite
Indeed, he was known as the only true wright
He did use armor, but he was no shining knight
He lived above land, but was certainly not a kite
The lilies will tell you he is far from polite
Now who is this Greek, and was he right?
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