Poetic Inspiration
I sat in a cellar, cold and dank
writing poetry that you said, "stank";
so now, I sit in a Left Bank cafe,
on a fine and fresh Spring Day,
where I turn to a colorful bird,
looking for a lyrical word,
but nothing issues from his beak.
Yet, suddenly, "Voila - Eurek" -
I hear my sandwich speak.
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