The trail of a forgotten thought,
Spirals, in a sprinkling of sparks,
Up and away into the dark aught
Of where inspiration goes to die...
The fleeting sparkles of light
Are oddly, sadly, beautiful, despite
Their momentary appearance, like
A shooting star in the night...
Meanwhile, the thought, now
Forgotten, which was duly sent,
But not received, is somehow
Making itself known, somewhere
Else, wherever it went.
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