Passing the Torch
I used to be creative,
I was crafty with the pen
People liked to read my odes
And would praise me now and then
Yes, i would dive into the river
Where the creative juices flow
My pen would seize the moment
And take on a life all its own
I would scribble til the morning
And sleep would pass me by
But i had to react to my calling
Until it was emptied from inside
Some folks say i have a gift
And should sell a book or two
Ive never heard of a rich poet
Maybe when we die we get our due
So one day some years from now
When my name is etched in stone
Perhaps my odes will touch one heart
And the gift will carry on.
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