The Poet Within
It's hard to think of metaphors
When dealt an accountant's brain,
Confronted with calculations
That must always come out even.
For thirty years with head bowed low,
I struggled with large numbers,
Unaware that somewhere within me
A burgeoning poet slumbers.
I loved my job in radio,
Where I worked with some great talents.
Among those inflated egos, though
I needed to keep my balance.
Retirement now has let me bloom
And cultivate sensation.
Away, away exactitude, just give me inspiration.
won 7th in contest
Copyright © Joyce Johnson | Year Posted 2010
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