Poets Are A Worried Lot

Poets Are A Worried Lot

Poets are a worried lot
Never sure of what they've got
Long they search and wrong they ponder
O're the words to make you wonder

Grasp they do at fleeting thoughts
Into meter it is wrought
Of every form and shape and kind
Resulting in a troubled mind

Expeditions to the zoo
Of grammer causes them to skew
The inner structure of the line
Like grafting cedar onto pine

So now, as I depart
And leave you something for your heart
Go and let your mind stay free
And leave the rhyming to fools like me

~ Michael Bahm ~

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