The paper, crampled and forlorn
with the black marks of printer ink
has made me stop and briefly think
of sad events that here went on.
I knew to you only I belonged
though you to me were like a sphinx
or like to a mouse a sly old lynx
that for amusement quietly longed.
To show my love and appreciation
to paper I committed a short poem
that broke my heart's incarceration
But you my poem rejected - now the nation
is never going to share in the amusement
of this small office infatuation.
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