I laid my first words Down to rest And whispered, "You are not my best, But I will put you to the test And if she's moved At your behest, I will not write you off My chest." Those that followed Beat the first, And in the manner they rehearsed, Became the lamer letters' hearse Til soon I felt the poem's curse. Buried in the bin, It burst, Salted every wound I nursed. You cannot avoid the fate: A thousand miserable mistakes Forever tempting To erase, Reify, redraw, retrace The path your frantic pen would pace, And in advising it You chase.
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