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I was old when I was new.
It is not a riddle,
or maybe it is.
I got up in the night
to write down
the song of the cricket
fiddling outside my window.
I forgot everything
as soon as I grabbed
my pencil and paper.
I did remembered
with a sigh of relief
that there aren’t words
for it anyway,
as I lay awake
dreaming
in the moonlight.