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Poetry thoughts

Being A Solitary Reaper.


The day flees fast

tied up in calls

one after another

in cohesive turns

managed the daily chores

with those in force

forget what I talk

to the one and to the other

hope I did not mix up

the way around in toll

completed the dialogues

a little ahead of the schedule

back to my normal routine

a revert to the original

being myself to myself

a “solitary reaper”  of Wordsworth

once and for all in worth.