|
Pen What You Know (a poem)
Here they come
Four, five, ten, plus more
To beat the date
One must wait for
The last bit of time that we give.
Then, to moan and fret
At the long line, as if
The time is due to us.
We too fret at
Eyes too hard
Hand fist-made
Sour word.
We sigh, deep, and
Move on.
__________________
A word to the wise ain't necessary - it's the stupid ones who need the advice.
--Bill Cosby
|