Poet
I’m a poet I am.
I lurk in pubs taking mental notes
Or wander about on moorland
During thunderstorms
Or sit beside rivers in summertime
Observing ducklings under yon tree
As mellifluous water burbles
On its journey to the sea.
When I am feeling bored
I wield my quill like a sword.
Yes, I’m a poet I am -
Seeking inspiration
Wherever I might find it
See me in the throbbing city
Or in the flattened streets of Gaza
Or in the throes of love
Or drawing images
From the well of memory.
Meticulously, I polish my lines
Occasionally making rhymes.
And when my poems are done
I bury them in moorland hollows.
Yes, my precious treasure
Is hidden midst the heather.
Words like these together.
Folk say I seldom show it
But I’m a bona fide poet.
from Yorkshire Pudding https://ift.tt/ocAnECr
