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unserved
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commentary
They came for
the feast of phrases,
gathered ‘round
the wordless flame.
Empty cups clinked,
unsated,
as the poet shrugged
—his muse unspoken.
“There’s no story here,”
he muttered,
his mind
a drought-struck desert.
And so they sat,
grasping shadows,
a poem promised
but never served.
.
