This poem was written by a guy named Barriss Mills, I probably wouldn't have ever heard of it if I wasn't taking this literature class this semester.
"Halfway through shaving, it came -
The word for a poem.
I should have scribbled it
On the mirror with a soapy finger,
Or shouted to my wife in the kitchen,
Or muttered it over and over to myself
Til it ran in my head like a tune.
"But now it's gone with the whiskers
Down the drain. Gone forever,
Like the girls I never kissed,
And the places I never visited,
The lost lives I never lived."
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