A Note

A note to poets yet to be No matter what their age is They've indexed me as World War Two But what's a scouser lad to do? With all those bloody sages? To develop the ability To speak into eternity And not be heard' s demeaning It's not just finding words that rhyme with syllables in metered time one has to have a meaning To give to those in later years To make their eyes o'er flow With tears of sentimental empathetic leaning It doesn't have to beat it home To keep repeating in a tome With weight too late to ponder It only has to make them peer Through time to see a moment clear To stare with your eyes yonder To show a simple memory of what was here for you and me A rushing stream, a vivid dream. A rose in prose depicted But chiefly briefly try to say your message to a friend Emotions free a trifle fey, and true blue to the end So polish your vocabul'ry, and pay your syntax just to be Remembered in eternity Come combat time with words that rhyme And when you're bent in blind intent Or lost in thought and sorely spent Just read and heed these thoughts I've sent To you my friend through time