An old poet

An old poet I want to write a book, and write poetry books, But I can't even get the people to take a look. Nevertheless the comments that feed my soul, Feed my ego and my appreciation is never so, so. Sick of growing old when all I want to do is die. Time to give up on giving up and give it a try. Will I write a master piece, before I cease, Or just throw away the piece I tried to write before I decease? It’s life or death or death or writ. If it ain’t in me, then I’ll find a lift. A way to raise my dead corpse once more, To write a book, or die a bore. (C)2023 Aa Harvey. All Rights Reserved.