Life is like pasta,
Exactly like pasta,
And I will tell you,
How I know,
Both can be spicy,
Or simple and plain,
Both twisting and curving,
Or sheets in a row,
If left unattended,
The taste will grow cold,
And every new motion, feels,
Blunt, bland and old,
If properly seasoned,
With care and with time,
The pasta of life,
Can grow sweet as fresh wine,
Both may be cut short,
Both made by mankind,
The pasta of life,
Is a road with its winds,
Enjoy all your pasta,
You happen to meet,
But take care to preserve,
All the people you greet,
And do not consume them,
As one of your treats.
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