Wanted to pen a thought
With an ink-pen
A little round
And a little cursive
Inertia got a jerk, and
Thought wavered diagonally
Across the lines
The supportive baseline
Empty at the table corner
Without an ink fill
The pot in all
Was gathering dust
Someone snatched
The soul out of it.
One could hear, the
Laughing of keystrokes!
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