Sticking a weathered, ragged quill pen
Within the confines of his scraggly grey beard,
The once great, now forgotten soldier
Scratched at his balding, scabbed crown,
Hoping for a touch of genius to alight there upon.
His feeble blue green marble of a planet
Had made quite a number
Of spins round about the sun,
Since last he saw that fateful comet
That motivated him to desert, and hide in foreign lands.
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Poem pieced together from 8 randomly generated words:
pen, planet, beard, comet,
genius, soldier, crown, number
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