Gift of Humility
Arise oh ye silent pen
And Torment me no more
Rendering my tender heart sore
with empty thought
all for nought
My crania is my own and can't
be bought
With trivial words
From dimensions absurd
For only I know how the gift is heard
And its never pressured or forced
And flows effortlessly its course
From its Holy Courts
To waiting Page
Where the message uncaged
Finally renders me a humble Sage.
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