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Becoming A Poet: Notes of an Online Journal
"Becoming A Poet"
I’m not sure just when it started
But I knew this would be the best part.
A feeling, being down hearted,
Was about to be rendered as art.
I don’t know where it had come from,
If it slid down a chimney one day.
Did it march in, beating a drum,
Were there children outside fit to play.
I’m not sure how it created
The inspiration deep within me.
I felt the muse had related,
And was ready to set my soul free.
I don’t know just why it turned on,
If it wasn’t from pushing a plug.
I wonder, how long this goes on?
So much better than taking a drug.
NaPoGloPoWriMo 2019
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