The glass is empty
It's quite easy to fill it up with water
But the table is swaying
The glass falls, broken down
And the pieces scatter everywhere
The water is not clean, lovely transparent
But kind of nasty green
Where millions of germs may stay peacefully
Till nobody has a heart to drop a little
The glass is actually not there
And the water is nowhere
The table hasn't been made
Hidden in the depth of quiet woods
No one knows
Except the man with a wise cloak
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