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Click hereI've just written
a poem
on a piece of paper.
Now I behold my hand in wonder:
is this that which wrote it?
Were I my hand, what cunning trick
makes the heaps of letters become
words?
But, again, what if
Inspiration, the mistress of Hazard
had guided
my impatient fingers?
What if a lightning criss-crossed
my brain cells
awaking this awkward reason?
Am I then just a toy
in the hands of fortune?
What magic force commands
my muscles
to scratch the paper this very way?
What makes me what I am?
...
What if I'm a poet?
Or am I not?