There is a time for poetry
and that time is now.
The hour of sombre rhythms
breaking the deafening silence;
the driving rhythms
reminiscing of times past.
I missed its supple embrace
a place of warming comfort
of affection and sorrow
where the wordsmith resides.
Now I must briefly bid farewell
for bodily rest beckons;
Tomorrow, I’ll come hither
when it will be time for poetry.
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