Hobbyist
He never had a hobby
Not one he could claim, anyhow.
Oh, he'd tinker with this,
Build that.
He learned so many things
Tried so many things
But nothing stuck.
Except love... That was
His hobby.
He'd love a bit,
And watch how the sun found him
Tomorrow.
Some love turned out beautiful
Some had seen better days
And some was unfit to be called love.
He could never bring himself to sell love
But as a true hobbyist does
His best works he gave away.
Copyright © Matthew Wetter | Year Posted 2016
Post Comments
Poetrysoup is an environment of encouragement and growth so only provide specific positive comments that indicate what you appreciate about the poem.
Please
Login
to post a comment