Pen-pushers frost in time

They think they’re Keats and Frost of time, Some pen-pushers are frost in time. All they pen, not but passing rhyme, Is set sail, a big boast in time, Which, all of self-promoted stuff Gathers black and white dust in time. Let some prayers be said for them: Their footprints last on coast in time. Heart wishes well, head less than least, I propose still a toast in time That those that have at least tried hard Are not treated as ghosts in time. I too, perhaps as one of them, Hope that their tribe’s not lost in time. _________________________ Ghazal (tongue-in-cheek) |04.03.2025| humour, poet, time