The Writer

Do youlike what i've written are you thus faily smitten with the meter and pace not too slow, nor a race does it travel to your liking are the pauses so striking you forget where you are on the earth or a star you do justice to me that the rabble canst see they would step on a flower so devoid of your power to see something of worth neath your feet, watch it's birth and husband it's development with due praise, you do raise the hope and expectations of a robust growth to maturity to this save me from obscurity which is where i would wind up with no friends and empty cup your brow bedevils me with such a frown i canst not tell but puzzlement is just as well the companion of all truth seekers tide once meant time but now signifies the ocean whose predatory motion engulfs us all no one so tall,he may escape drowning perhaps thus why your palled frowning but can something once said be drawn back can poems be unread is memory so efemerald, fleeting we forget who we were greeting by and by,by the way, what was your name you say that tired refrain, what was your name oh how really rotten of me to forget but don't blame me, tis my memory it is a miracle we remember at all can the ether be stretched to catch our fall,who are the guardians of all past without them we have naught that will last,to have only the moment means nothing behind or ahead,the world becomes empty without reason being led nowhere,but if not for God who does really care,who would be spared