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The Poet’s Patience

The poet is a patient man.

He has to be.

You see, the poet spends

all his days

trying to pick

the perfect thing to say

and, moreover, trying to

put it the perfect way;

yet, even after he’s long

gone and dead,

the poet tarries on.

He waits many generations,

scores if not hundreds of years, until

what he says and how he says it

burn into the soul of man.

Only then will he have

achieved his

fulfillment, but

for it, he will have

had to have

been patient,

which is why

the poet is

a patient man.

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