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Click hereYou are a poem I could
never write.
My idle pen sits atop
a blank page;
I am a dry inkwell.
Oh snotty readers! can't you see the melancholic irony hovering upon this poem? Tssst... either she has just finished her last drops of ink, yet she still was a capable poet while it lasted... or as manifested by the very existence of the poem AND its internal contradiction, she demonstrates her talent in writing a love song, if clearly plagued by self doubt...so typical to love stricken young types...