There is no evil in simple lyric,
Nor laziness nor cheating short-cut,
When there-in may be found
A moment’s sudden glimpse
Of something special
That might evade a mind or hand
More tasked with frill or fancy.

And, but for the saving chance
Of right fist clasping
And a leading on a dance a nearby pen,
Scraps of empty paper would
So, barren, remain
And for time uncountable
Exist devoid of art.


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