I left it all on paper,
All that’s ink that is;
The rest is purely vapor,
Surely no one’s biz.
‘Twasn’t from the heart at all,
Seldom ever is,
But yet in that synaptic sprawl,
Gleams a proof that lives.
© Loubert S Suddaby. All Rights Reserved.
Loubert S Suddaby poems 
💛🌻
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