I know he's lost the will to live
for his inspiration has gone dry.
Poems stopped flowing from his pen
and he told the world his goodbyes.
His souls topped yearning for a title,
his stanzas no longer rhymed.
The voices of previous poems
had diminished from his mind.
Say farewell to the master mind
for his pen no longer flows.
He's buried beneath the thinking tree
where his inspiration grows.
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