The poet of a thousand poems he felt he had not written a single line - which explained his next poem, which blossomed like a rose, then
fell like the rest into the golden boat, to leave him staring into the sunset, the wordless great expanse of purple sky, where silence hung like a crystal drop
reflecting the million fragments of the world, tantalizing his powers, until he realized it was envy of the infinite, futile, that in his words imposed a limit.
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