Black coffee and brown rice;
Mother Hubbard's feast.
A little hard to admit:
This is all I have in my kitchen
To create a feast.
It's enough, though;
For a poet sitting still;
Fuel for my fingers
As they create something to show.
Sure, it would be nice
To have more than coffee and rice;
But at what cost?
Would my gleaming visions be utterly lost?
It will suffice:
Coffee and rice;
'Til my fingers beg for more,
Something new from the store.
This afternoon, though
And thIs evening, too;
I will maintain,
And create something I can proudly show.
COPYRIGHT SECOND CIRCLE BOOKS AND ARTS
Thanks
Chris
Ron