Discarded words tumble forwards,

Crumpled paper spilling ink,

Little foot prints echo on,

Words that never made it past the line,

Never read or cared for,

Never headed or thought for,

Never wanted or heard after or,

Later, while laying crumpled,

On wooden floor,

Words echoing off paper,

Yearning for author, its creator,

To whisper to them,

Softly caress them into place,

That they may be,

His masterpiece.

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