My Last Poem
My last poem fell victim to Chrono’s dastardly warps
I dragged the depths of my memory pool, came up with a shriveled corpse.
I beat my breast and wailed like a woman plucked from the Middle Ages..
You can’t scribe without paying your wages
So I present this wine to the sages
Alas! For I have filled my book with blank pages!
Copyright © A.E. Rivenbark | Year Posted 2015
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