When you’re writing a poem it stays in your head
And thoughts come to mind of things that you’ve said.
You think of a line time after time,
Trying to come up with an ending to rhyme.
It goes on and on, you just can’t prevent it,
Then the word comes – your brain has sent it.
Poetry writing is such a pleasurable occupation,
But it’s fraught with hardship and frustration.
Yes, a bard’s life can be wearisome,
Especially when the right words won’t come,
But when your work is done you just can’t hide,
Your satisfaction and your pride.
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