No Emmy,
No Oscar,
No nobel…
No trophy,
No ring,
Not even are we told truths, just lies…
Poets don’t reap great rewards,
Mostly it seems we make most bored,
A writing muse we do possess,
Sometimes we seem to do our best,
And others we trip on our muse & do less…
So when we do of others read,
Take into account how we get our thought seed,
For some, poetry can for life them feed,
As we don’t usually get our just reward,
Till we die, then our poetry does maybe get revered,
After all our thought & sweat we have into it poured…
© ed ~ 12/18/11
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