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Down the Drain
April 18, 2009
I went to paper today,
But had nothing to tell.
Always my pen can sing sweet words
To a reader and his mind's labyrinth,
But the words are lost today
Like whiskers down the drain.
My pen does not sing the rocks in my head;
The quiet becomes disturbing.
However, once the whiskers are gone,
There's no way back up the drain.
Next time I find some words,
I will hold on to them tighter.
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