Scent of Tuberose
I am a writer who cannot help but write
from early dawn to dusk I think and jot
each and every word is pure delight
I cannot state enough how eagerly I sought
those hours of tame that often gifted me
the rarest flowers of its sort, ... my lot
Sometimes I told my story on the moon for free
Sometimes I etched it on a star, such bless
its the joy of penning, who would disagree
That a rhyming poem without excess
can be a flow of sweet compose
there is no greater pass time, I confess
then letting a muse be your mentor of prose,
each time it lingers, I smell the tuberose.
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