Try Harder

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Ay, Ay, Ay.

Try Harder. The poem is inscribed at the back of the old-fashioned frame.

 

From too much love of living
From hope and fear set free,

To where the weariest river
Must wind to the sea.

And no one shall work for
money and on one shall
work for fame;

But each for the joy or the
working, and each, in his
separate star.

 

I sometimes scribble fragments in my book of whatever I come across. Then I realize how the unconscious has set in, putting fragment to fragment, creating a new poem. I have lost the ability to write, but I still have fingers to piece

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