To be'still my soul,
Come'th it now..
Invited I not,
yet come'th, then forth.
This talent, long buried ...
lay dormant it still.
To this, then the garden...
the garden, my soul.
Tragedy, brought for'th,
To cultivate, thus,
This, to the muze,
be grateful, ther'by.
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I love to collect thoughts. I would love to collect some of yours, if they are mindful and respectable.