The Poet

Sitting in his room
Furiously scribbling
By lamplight
In the depth of night

Sitting in his room
Angrily brooding
By lamplight
In the harsh light of day

Sitting in his room
Wondering wearily
Where he was going wrong
In his pursuit of happiness

Sitting in his room
Wondering where
All the women were
Why they aren’t at his feet

Sitting in his room
Sadly, not realising
All he has to do
Is walk out the door

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