And The Word


The same old well worn phrases,
The same old clumsy rhymes,
The riff that falls then raises
A hundred thousand times.

The same old boring meters
And melodies repeat,
The four: four rhythm beaters.
The pattern is complete.

What price a plagiarism?
Can ignorance be theft?
And is eclecticism
Not woven in the weft?

Uncharted, down the ages
The echoes linger on;
The wisdom of the Sages;
The stanzas of the Song!

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