Bin Or Keeper
When I put pen to paper
words take on some meaning
as they drop from my pen
A life of their own
they begin to form
as sentences are made
Each portrays a thought
showing often more than meant
revealing deep hidden feelings
As the sentences spring to life
verses start to be formed
telling a certain tale
Sometimes of joy, others of woe
when at last I lie my pen aside
blank paper there is no more
A new poem comes to life
Sitting back I read afresh
will it be bin or a keeper?
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