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I write, (as I have said before),
For reasons that have bourn no clue,
As would a drinker crave for more,
As would the morn be bathed in dew.
I have no will to seek out fame,
Nor even yet to fill my purse,
Nor find a pedestal for my name,
Nor claim as precious any verse.
For what I write, I write to write,
Forever scribing what my mind,
Brings from darkness into light,
Words of joy; words unkind!
Ere yet for reasons quite unknown,
The verse I write is not my own.
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