Writing Poems

Sometimes a poem comes – the seeds are sown

but it’s gone again before I write it down.

The good ones I know will come again

so I’ll keep to hand my trusty pen

and many left empty a small note book

just in case a poem should chance to luck:

sometimes a poem and sometimes not:

sometimes my pen just runs and blots

but where blackest lie, dark pools of ink

does a poem hide? Just let me think…

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