It's Too Early To Prite Woetry
A line, is not a line until written
and by your contest quest I am smitten.
Seeking words to ease and flow
across the pages yet sown.
Tempt me not you foolish one
I write my words as yet unsung.
It suffers pain and need and want
to paint a ghost formed in my haunts.
A game of words, poetic thoughts that wane
burning, searing in my fame to date, unclaimed.
1/7/17 ( How the years fly)
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