One mourns for a lost idea
As for a neglected lover.
Better to suffer writer's block,
and remain a lifelong blockhead,
than, having had a brainwave,
to subsequently forget
before paper preserves it.
Harsh self-reproach prevails
For once having tasked Imagination
Only for memory in an idle moment
Distracted by a passing fancy
To loose its grasp
on hard-wrought genius
pursued afresh in vain.
One mourns for an idea
Entombed in the sands of time
Buried forever in amnesia.
All hail pen and paper!
Jailhouse of flighty ideas.
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