A sign of creative thought.
I ask myself, but before I answer,
The question has been lost.
Instead I find only riddles
And ideas I have bought.
Why do my thoughts desert me
When I think I need them most?
Why don't they stay and waste away,
Idling at their post?
Perhaps it is because I am
Such an ungrateful host.
I wonder where my mind dwells
When I am at wit's end.
If what it says is true, then you
Are truly a good friend.
I know myself to lie though,
So the whole thing I contend.
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