by Rhymis

Upon a cabin in the woods I came,
Across a man thus likely insane,
For high upon the ferns of green,
He sat in a window barely seen.

The tap of thoughts slayed the paper of white,
From his tiny window he peered in the night,
As tho to see that what cannot be said,
The trickling of madness seeped from his head.

For was it on paper fled his thought's device,
Long lost ideas stole in the night,
Or was it upon the wake did he hear the wolf howl,
To see the blank pages from his own mind's cowl.

Never again the trickling thoughts convey,
For once on paper the mind's thoughts are slayed. 

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