| Previous | Feb 4, 1991 | Next |
Writ with Care | ||
| Page on page I've filled the book, Hoping you will take a look. Sometimes heavy, sometimes light, Rarely speaking of a fight. Every word is writ with care, Just enough, with none to spare. Every line must have its beat With its meter and its feet. Every strophe must have a rhyme, Ready to be lost in time. I may yet become a poet, Though the work may barely show it. | ||
| Previous | Category Poetry Categories Index | Next in Category |