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14 Crêpes It was the timeless whisper, Unclosed and translucent, Of batter seething In the bottom of the mirror-like-pan. The chatter of the guests, The massive stove confidently glowing. Trying to match the perfect circle of the pan You tilted around the sizzling mixture, In a sleight flipped la crêpe, So cruel, so crude, so lame The caul of an unborn genius, The first one is always messed up! ...

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