No one knows where they come from,
Or why they don't always appear
But for some too lucky souls they come
And shed a hair or drop a plot-born tear.
The dust bunnies gather in
Clumps under the mind waiting to
Find a back door and sneak within
The writer in you knows this to be true.
They hide inside everyone of us
"Eureka!"'s cry is their true delight
Don't sweep them out with your mess
When next you spring clean to avoid writing
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