I have a friend who studies poetry, and basically has devoted his life to this study. I was going to ask him why he doesn't write poetry, but then it occurred to me that this would be kind of like asking a doctor why he doesn't go get a disease.
More NaPoWriMo practice . . .
Nothing More Possible
That's some cute little youth by your side,
I say. I'm in the house of a guy going
On a voyage. He's got maps of sea lanes,
Pages and pages, spread out on his table.
He looks over and says, "Oh this?
Picked it up a month ago in Florida,
And she's just the best souvenir
I ever got in my life. You're not
Gonna see anyone else with another life
Just to have, like you have a million little things
And for what? Just to say that it's yours."
Huh, I say. You bet. Youth rolls its eyes,
Long hair curling round a soft, brown neck,
And what can you say to that?
Only that trips take you sometimes, and hey
Youth, just between itinerants,
There's nothing more possible than you,
Than you getting all that you want.
posted by Reen |link| 0 comments
