Poems come and poems go
Some are worth retaining here;
Others wander to and fro
Others simply disappear.
If I type a poem clear
In the white space of this page
Would you not believe it queer
If the web should hemorrhage
And contrive to disengage
What I wrote from where 'twas writ,
Leaving me in primal stage
When I had not written it
But with memory thereof
And a writer's selfish love?
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