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Sitting at the desk with the paper in the middle, pen ready and lamp on,
the light glares as I tuck in my chair, and start to write poetry, the sentences are flowing free so easily I don't know what's came over me,
my hands movement's so constant I'm not using full stops or comma's,
I just seem to have all the ideas,
as I write my mind clears while I start feeling uplifted,
but the words are down,
from my old-fashioned pen that they used in the 16th century,
as I come to the last line of my passion and past time,
I end it sensibly
cause there's nothing left...