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Words come and go.The poetry muse dropped by at an inconvenient moment, and was sadly ignored.

Flittered and skittered
across the surface of my mind,

Had they been caught,
pinned down,
Written in time

I would have had a poem
of grace and style,
Memorable, perhaps,
for its scansion and rhyme.

But they weren't:
At that moment
I was making supper,
And drinking some wine.

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