Jots
Here I sit
With pen in hand
My mind as blank as space
Then
Suddenly
A line is planned
The kind I can't erase
I never know
When down to sit
Or when to draw the sword
I only know this heartfelt fit
Must never be ignored
So here I am
With time well bought
And ink to spare my heart
The trauma of a swollen thought
Not yet a truthful part
Of jots
John Christopher
1983
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