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5/17/2011 1:46:52 AM
Alas I find it quite perverse, that I can only write in verse, the habit has become a
It’s time I though of quitting
I’m very envious of those, who effortlessly turn out prose, that without rhyme just
some how flows
Their skill is unremitting.
Even if I take my time, my poems somehow end as rhyme, becomes a literary crime
To all who are discerning
At spelling I will always fail, my grammar too is very frail, therefore I feel I’m bound
To satisfy my yearning
Though I try with all my might, to make my poetry sound right I simply am not
enough for inspiration
Therefore it's very plane to see, the thing that is obstructing me, I lack perspicacity
I have no education
I should have listened more at school, stopped behaving like a fool, my pen could
have become my tool
To fulfil my ambition
To write with style and panache, in literature to cut a dash, instead of which I come
Trembling with contrition
Now it’s time to turn to drink, and put away my pen and ink, give up the quest that
makes me think
That I could really write
No more to comment on the news, giving vent to biased views, or writing of the
It’s time I said good night.
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