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Jul 2017
Countless hours,
Sleepless nights,
He couldn't write any more.
As he opened a new page every time,
His thoughts got lost in the crisp air,
As nothing came out from his pen.
He kept thinking on,
When did he stop writing,
A moment of when it all start.
And then it hits,
It was always her,
She was always the poem.
Yusof Asnan
Written by
Yusof Asnan  Brunei
(Brunei)   
  406
   Keith Wilson
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