The smoke rises from my cigarette
Sitting in the ashtray
Surrounded by the detritus of earlier musings,
I shuffle through scraps of paper
Scribbled with ghosts of thoughts,
Ashes of earlier efforts to find just the right word,
Hoping an ember still smolders
That can be blown into flame
To illuminate my current mood.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
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