One man,
a pen that never halts,
unceasing along the page.
One man,
a world to see,
a word to write.
One man,
alone without himself,
with all around fading.
One man,
sitting in his chair,
staring out.
One man,
his hand still at last,
his pen lays beside the page,
around him lays papers,
thousands thrown aside.
One man,
A hundred years,
One word.
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