I've set my self to write —
Of gentle breezes, greening buds,
And herons taking flight.
|Happy spring, everybody!|
But out my window, all I see
Is cars and lots and rust,
And hear the wailing ambulance,
And smell the drifting dust.
Writing poetry that's great
Takes something I ain't got.
Sure, I've got the words, the rhymes,
But inspiration? Not.
For this sad sot, his "poems" are
Like home plumbing, I guess:
I can tinker with the pipes
But I only make a mess.
So happy spring to those of you
Whose minds are blue and clear,
And have a great World Poetry Day
If I haven't ruined it here.