Lying half done in the mid
Lay my incomplete poem
Calling out for feelings unsaid
And perhaps for some tears unshed.
Filled with affection,
My mines of gold.
A tale unfinished,
While ages unfold
Hearts broke and lovers pined
The moon wept and poets whined
Couldn’t avert what was destined.
Misfortune of an incomplete poem.
The ink from pen divine
Wrote in elegance and style
And somewhere in the mid
The pen stopped and ink dried.
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