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Ponder

Rating: 5.0
My evenings,
Quiet and dreary,
Spent, with a book
In my hand
That I hardly read;
A whisky glass on the table,
Waiting for a refill,
Aren't momentous;
I cannot talk about them
Painlessly.
Ennui struck,
I pick up my laptop
To play with,
Steady my mind,
And record my thoughts
Such as these words
Portray.
Not wise words, I say.
Wednesday, March 24, 2021
Topic(s) of this poem: thought
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