Sorry For Wasting Your Time

My friends and family wonder thusly On these hours lost to idle rhyme Where such tales and thoughts expressed Seem an affront on precious time. My desire to fixate on every word To produce a work they'll never read Is a joy of love they will never know On what this poet feeds. So I slog away at the words of old To give voice to Nature's faults And if my muse should be so inclined, A sly poem may result. But their interests lie in happenstance And the boisterous views that others take. My frivolous words are a sad refrain Compared to what they fully slake. But in the years ahead... when my dust Lies cold and still beneath the dappled grass. I may live on by the reading of a single verse And with that... my own mortality surpass. The End