A nimble thought when intricately wrought,
In lines of grace which perch upon the page
Has always been the ideal that I've sought
In countless poems regardless of their age.
I've looked in books too numberless to mention,
In weighty tomes that I could barely lift;
But none were able to catch my attention --
Just think of all the lines I've had to sift!
It seems that every poem which has been penned
Has been run through my ever-searching mind.
Could it be such a poem's never been,
Not a single extant member of its kind?
Instead of in a book upon a shelf,
Perhaps this poem resides within myself.
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