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When I do find that thoughts refuse,
To allow the words to reach my pen,
Defying the magnet of my muse,
To at least attract it now and then,
Then I am truly lost of thought,
For anguish, has dissolved, my empty heart,
For there is but bitterness in it caught,
A bitterness my verse cannot impart.
Then I must seek a forest glade,
Where margined sunlight filters through,
Where all by God was fondly made,
That what one sees is always true.
And therefore find a tranquil peace,
That all my rhyming words increase.
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