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I have to write a poem,
Iíve been away too long.
My muse must have forgotten how to play.
And so I sit here thinking,
About what I should write
Until this nighttime turns into the day.
Shall I make it silly
Or shall I make it nice,
A horror story straight from deepest hell?
Or should I tell of angels
Just waiting with their harps,
Whilst the reaper is at large, ringing deathís bell?
Oh please, my muse, come join me
Iím feeling so alone.
What can a wordless poet do for fun.
Iíd better get a cushion
To soften up this chair
For sitting writing nothing hurts my bum.
But now the sun is rising
To wash away the night
And dawn prepares to blossom into day.
I know itís time to ponder
If my sanityís quite right,
As I snap my pen and throw the pad away.,
Ivor G Davies
The moment created this second, is a moment that's going to last.
It lives the full spectrum of time, the future, the present and past.