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.
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