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Isaac Newton, born on Christmas day,

knew all along, he had something to say.

He went to college, and year by year,

To a new conclusion, he came quite near.

When all of a sudden, descended the blubonic,

He went to his with speed supersonic.

He worked by day, and he worked by night,

Til finally, he came up with the theory of light.

He did this all before he was twenty-four,

And all his conclusion were not a bore.

He wrote a book, the Theory of Light and Colors,

But the only problem was, he was oppossed to some scholars.

He promised himself he would never again write a book.

Luckily, his friend Hally got it together and said "Look,

You've got the brains, you've got the words,

Tell me why fly the birds,

And apples fall from their home trees,

But hardly shift within the breeze."

He wrote again, and was a success.

Along the way, he met at least one duchess.

The only problem was he couln't hack it,

Even though the public lacked it.

After that, no more discoveries he made.

His life from the public began to fade.

And finally he past away,

No more like him for many a day.

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