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Other Planes | ||
| Often when I sit to write I know not what will come out. I relax and do not fight. Words will come, if I don't put. If I start to write a line, I don't see how it will end. Yet it always comes out fine! I can on the words depend. Who knows where the muse is hid? It may be on other planes. I just write as I feel bid, Piling up the sand by grain. | ||
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