I will be past
The Raven's mark:
made vain upon the writing
desk where once tasked Poe,
where croaked Poe then, by muse
bird-struck and pinion-pen, on wavy
pane of window grime. Cleaned
once too soon, then let
too slow to shine
on rhyme:
"Forevermore."
Was never,
once.
No.
That was then.
It's what one wants:
the other
wonts.
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