No, I’m not a poet,
I cannot find the time,
To juggle varied English words,
And try to make them rhyme.
No, I’m not a poet,
Clever words I leave to others,
They frame in verse things ‘good’ or worse,
Immortalize their mothers.
No, I’m not a poet,
I shall never leave behind,
A list of life’s conundrums,
For others to unwind.
So at Christmas just be grateful
Your ‘latter dated sage’
Has left its ‘joys’ unwritten,
Packed up and left the stage!
Anon
Thursday, December 17, 2020
No poet
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
Kate
Who do I most miss of late? ‘Would have to be my Aunty Kate. Younger than my much loved mother, neither one could claim a brother. Sister...
-
In the annual pre-Christmas meeting in heaven God sat at the head of the table, with the angels gathered round. It was, as you might expect,... -
Our second home had a railway track running directly behind the back garden. We had decided to move with our young baby son and toddler daug...
-
Anybody could see that the understudy was making a right hash of the role of Evita, her requirement to learn and practice the words to the m...
No comments:
Post a Comment