I am not the perfect poet,
you and I both know it,
though surely we could share,
our time with rhyme and reason,
springtime, snowdrop, couplets,
summer days of sunshine sonnets,
autumnal skies of falling paper leaves,
winters filled with warming verse?
Perhaps I've been too scared,
to tempt, or fraternise with fate,
now having taken too long,
and having left it all so late,
to...
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