Non-Fiction is Best

Oh beautiful, musical beat that I hear
In the dusty old hallway sounding so clear;
Oh wonderful whish of that mountain perfume
When she opens the door of my pale-lit room,
Oh eyes of blue skies bringing daylight to me
As I write in the night of great beauties to be,—
Yet here is my heroine, fiction grows weak,
The hero leaps up, but has nothing to seek!
I look in your eyes, at your lips, at your stance;
Your body of music a-waiting its chance
To fly to me softly and tenderly twine
True beatings around me of all that is mine!
Our story’s not ended, but this will be told:
My non-fiction’s best, though it never gets sold!

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