Handfuls of Empty Hands

I have written thousands of poems, I have poured out my inner thoughts. I have given the world my gift of writing, And I have written down a lot. I have no time to dwell on one piece, For it will prevent my next. Sometimes I even surprise myself, And do things I wouldn’t expect. I write and deliver series of poems, Though many are sad, I’m a happy man. But as I work twenty-four seven at this, I have earned handfuls of empty hands.