[英文小诗] Inspiration and I
It always knocks on my brain at night
I wonder why it has to be so sly
I ponder why it hates the light
Rarely appearing under the open sky
When it’s gone too far my heart feels cold
Internals rotting, movements slow
Life’s about living in the present, or so I was told
They are perplexed at why I stoop so low
Well, I suppose my imagination’s gone wild
Mundane tasks often too trivial and mild...
To avoid descending into the world of the senile
I got to grasp it and hold on like a child
Drifting into dreamland, fleetingly smile
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