A poem, a poem
Oh, how I hate to attempt a poem.
I could talk about a fleck of dust
Suspended in a beam of light,
As has been done before.
Oh, the suspension of time.
Or perhaps I will lament the passing day,
Hour upon hour gone by.
Oh, the fleeing of time.
No, I think I’ll ponder the meaning of life,
And determine my place in time.
It’s not enough
To simply observe
One must observe
And then write
Perceive and create
Interpret, formulate
Get it down
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