Lines beneath an L.Cohen poem

I’d wanted to write on this page from the moment I opened this book

But I restrained myself, instead allowing myself, rather forcing myself

To read till the end of the poem.

The problem was my impatience,

Till that was subverted by interest and

I forgot what it was I had wanted to write.

In truth I guess I had only a notion

Something, some fleeting romantic attempt – at poetry.

Well being that it’s gone, this urge, this feeling,

I present this – My reality!

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