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    How will I know if there's another song?
    Each day I fear perhaps it is my last,
    But must I be discouraged and forlorn,
    Though be it true, yet never never just.

    Each morning I return to my page so stark
    And fill it with the story of my turmoiled thoughts;
    What are you, muse, if not a friend to souls that starve?
    So do now what you do so well; sigh later if you must.

    Don't disappoint or frown your lofty brow at me,
    Remember, I am your friend steadfast,
    Don't scold and glare with marble eyes at me,
    Soften your mercurial heart and be a blast.

    I'll sing for you my best of songs
    I”ll write my best of verse
    And you, my muse, will burst with pride
    and never shall digress.
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