Still await a time, an optimistic I
When poetry will be the language new,
Speech vague, yet clear like a cloudless sky,
Words quivering on lips like evanescent dew.
(The time will never come, I bow my head and cry,
Weary vocabulary shall keep permeating our air
With reason but no rhyme, wings to show but not to fly,
Useless mumbo jumbo; words escaping without flair.)
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