Comments Inbox
| |
EASILY DONE
I loathe ancient phrases from Chaucer; Dickinson too
I’d rather be writing today’s words anew
Poets of old penned words from past times
But today, here I sit making small rhymes
I take my amusement from words in my brain
They walk in rhythm with simply no shame
They’re pleasant and pure and easily write
Get them on paper before they take flight
Neither angst nor striving nor getting upset
They flow onto paper lest I forget
Others think strange, this thing I let loose
Who’s in here with me? Is that Doctor Seuss?
|
|
|