The words were there,
Beautiful phrases that even Shakespeare,
Despite having been dead for so long,
Would have marveled at my ingenuity,
Shake his head, and declare forlornly
"I wouldnt have thought of these lines,
even if I had lived this long."
But then the words are not there anymore
They will come in drips some other time
Like a faulty tap,
And me, desiring a quick full tank,
Will go elsewhere to look for other less beautiful words
But beautiful nonetheless, because they'll gush
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