There are times when poetry is a drag.
Seems to come too easy,
And is greeted the same way.
Nevertheless I keep writing,
As it's a gift I was given,
And it can't be trivialized.
I often wonder,
As I seldom read what I write.
Why did I receive it, so late in life?
Seems a thoughtless question,
To ponder a gift from God.
Well I've done my best,
And God knows the rest.
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Love ya!
Jane