O Muse, what lines shall I compose today?
Please tell me quick, I know not what to do.
Each time I grasp, the words, they fly away
And leave me empty, so I call to you.
Perhaps I should be writing of some love
Who, when I showed my feelings, broke my heart.
Or better yet, the shining stars above,
Who symbolize the ideal of my art.
But when I try to write my feelings down
In some poetic fashion dignified,
The words, they seem suggestive of a clown
And I am left here gaping, stupefied.
This barren page, it mocks me endlessly,
So in my haste I write words carelessly.
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