The posings of a poet.







How many times do I invent rhymes and pray that they fit the bill


As often I’d say as night becomes day as if by some divine will


But do they fit, by style or whit, or do I write in vain



Why is it that I cannot seem to get by without putting thought to word


Perhaps like so many I’ll not be noted by any only after I’m gone I’ll be heard


Through words that bring joy, sorrow, elation and pain



Who can I reach what wisdom to teach or just to speak my heart


Reason alone has no passion to own and love is just a start


Eh, I’ll just write on and when I’m done it’s up to you to explain



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