The doughnut and its hole

My hole my whole
A stranger's tone,
a witness to what am ever known;
Praised in sight and smell and touch,
remind the king his making such.

The doughnut speaks in its perfect stop.
With perfect combine
In spacious close.
And if my all is not my whole,
insight's by they and not by own.

Knowledge and hoisted glories,
Fame and great stories
enshrouds not the hole_
the space of shortcomings.
So, if the doughnut's hole,
whose soul it is,
does not have that mole,
Its standing will not remain
on the doughnut's row.

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