Waiting for inspiration to strike
With lightning as the Archetype
And this…
This is my flaw
Yes, this is the primeval turnpike
I hasten to chase east winds, and ripe
The pith…
Such is the dawn
This childish heart… seasons are the dike
Patience like a typhoon and stipe
And I…
Not yet a shaw
But now I learn slowly, autumn-like
No longer barrage, now I snipe
A sigh…
Invoke a yawn
December Rose 
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