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My desire to be the verse,not the weaver
In the rhythm of time, a yearning takes flight,
To be the verse, not the weaver of light.
Threads of fate spun, in patterns so fine,
Yet, I crave the ink, the words that entwine.
To be the lyric, not the hand with the loom,
In the silent spaces where verses find room.
A poet's creation, a dance of delight,
I wish to be the verse that takes flight.
Not the weaver who crafts each design,
But the melody of words, a rhythm divine.
A dream to immerse, my desire so deep,
To be the verse, not the weaver's sweep.
Let the phrases dance in the moonlit night,
Of language pure and bright.
A tale to tell, in each carefully spun line,
I yearn to be the verse, forever entwined.
So in the embrace of time, let me be,
A poetic echo, wild and free.
The desire to be the verse, a passion so deep,
In the heart of the poem, my soul to keep.
To be the verse, not the weaver of light.
Threads of fate spun, in patterns so fine,
Yet, I crave the ink, the words that entwine.
To be the lyric, not the hand with the loom,
In the silent spaces where verses find room.
A poet's creation, a dance of delight,
I wish to be the verse that takes flight.
Not the weaver who crafts each design,
But the melody of words, a rhythm divine.
A dream to immerse, my desire so deep,
To be the verse, not the weaver's sweep.
Let the phrases dance in the moonlit night,
Of language pure and bright.
A tale to tell, in each carefully spun line,
I yearn to be the verse, forever entwined.
So in the embrace of time, let me be,
A poetic echo, wild and free.
The desire to be the verse, a passion so deep,
In the heart of the poem, my soul to keep.
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