Poetry
I sit here writing poetry,
The reason’s I don’t know.
Some word’s I write amuse me,
I write them even so.
My father wrote some poem’s once,
And maybe, I don’t know.
He’s writing poem’s once again,
Through me so I can show.
He passed away one Christmas morn’
We did not say goodbye,
Our poetry will keep us close,
There is no need to cry.
Copyright © Mark Ward | Year Posted 2007
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