a humble editorial massage...

Having finished reviewing my oeuvre,
I admit, and painfully confess,
the absence of my poetic muse,
causes me a great distress.

I string a rhyme and perchance another,
but they refuse to give me joy,
the situation therein is oh so stale,
despite the inventions I employ.

Accepting my foregone conclusion,

my loss no longer hid from sight,

I lay my quill among the embers,

and tear the page; I've lost my life.

The End

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