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An Infinite Number of Poets

If an infinite number of monkey’s Will write everything that’s been read Then an infinite number of poets Would repeat everything that’s been said Alas it’s the fault of the reader For they know neither living nor dead And if you go quoting a poet It’s probably nothing they said Just something that dripped on the paper As it leaked slowly out of their head And so I must go as my pencil Slowly has run out of lead And the muse in abject confusion sprouted gold wings as it fled John G. Lawless ©12/26/2021

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Caren Krutsinger

Date: 1/13/2022 8:38:00 AM

Your muse flees; lucky you! Mine would have stayed to take credit for this part "Just something that dripped on the paper As it leaked slowly out of their head"

Gershon Wolf

Date: 12/27/2021 6:35:00 PM

Hahahahaha! You are the funniest guy around, J.L.

Joe Dimino

Date: 12/27/2021 5:34:00 AM

I disagree, John; I think this work is uniquely original -- Great read! Though I guess that has been said often about your fine works. Happy New Year! Joe. Oops!--that's not very new either.

L Milton Hankins

Date: 12/26/2021 5:11:00 PM

So true, John. As someone said, "There's nothing new under the sun." That may be a paraphrase of the wise Solomon, I think.

Sand Blown

Date: 12/26/2021 4:37:00 PM

....very nicely writ.....a finite numb-er for sure......stan