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you sit there with a blank page or screen
wanting to be the next Rowling or Rankin
words fail to come, you write words but nothing seems to make sense
then at midnight, words flow more freely
unfinished
At Waverly station people are escaping for the weekend

In Edinburgh people are going about their daily lives
Crowds arrive for the festival, tourists take photos of monuments, we take for granted .People travel on buses taking them on tours of the city
i Wrote this poem 13 years ago, got it published in a magazine

— The End —