About Writing A Poem...
With pen poised high over paper plain,
I sit awaiting an idea to write,
And yet my mind just searches in vain,
For an idea, as it hides just out of sight...
What shall I say, that yet I have not said
In verse, I have put my every thought...
And still at night, just before bed,
I yearn to write of another thought...
Of demons, goblins, fantastic lore,
Of a poor traveler’s travails, achy and sore
Of love and nature and earthly delight,
I've written them all, some or the other night
Is it all over, my poetry dead?
I ask myself in horror, It just can't be,
Oh dear me, i have been misled,
'Cos here's another poem, how silly of me!