The soundless rhythm of my hidden thoughts
Punctuates my strides on the unfeeling ground,
The chorus of my countless unwritten poems
Have a place in my private recesses found.
I feel a poem in the chirruping of the keen sunrise bird
And another in the sickening brutality of heartless men,
A couple of verses in the little-noted burials of great souls
And endless sonnets in the mystic things beyond my ken.
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