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The Words
My passion with a word
sometimes seems absurd.
How did it come?
Where is it from?
It's like it's been stored
and unexplored
for so long a time.
And then came the rhyme.
Now the words spill.
I can't get my fill.
The meter and sound
keeps me spellbound.
Using my pen
again and again
brings comfort and peace.
Let the words never cease.
poem
by
Edwina Reizer
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