On Poetry

On Poetry A soft Summer shower washes my face, And the sun’s light presents a rainbow’s path Within this preponderance of time and space I am rejuvenated by the bath. I had grown lazy in my endeavours, And thought a wave of the hand was required, To produce as if one superior; Natural talent was all one needed. And so my art’s creative form dwindled, I felt I did not have to work at it; It took on an aura of arrogance, No-one appreciated or wanted. One well-written poem excels many Lauded at the altar of poetry.