POETRY, TO ME
If ever I'm on an island marooned,
I would etch my poems on the bark
of trees this week and then round
go reading them, the next week!
Poetry, my pastime true, without
compare, loyalty that never flops.
Though other vocations also count,
writing, however, my list long tops.
It thrives in each soul, even if locked,
striving hard to be written, hawked.
Life's companion in a lonely journey,
winning, cares little of, in a tourney.
Poems my heart make go gay up,
more sweet than a full Champagne cup.
One stanza, well-written, the mind blows,
in anthologies, a poet's fame grows!
I would etch my poems on the bark
of trees this week and then round
go reading them, the next week!
Poetry, my pastime true, without
compare, loyalty that never flops.
Though other vocations also count,
writing, however, my list long tops.
It thrives in each soul, even if locked,
striving hard to be written, hawked.
Life's companion in a lonely journey,
winning, cares little of, in a tourney.
Poems my heart make go gay up,
more sweet than a full Champagne cup.
One stanza, well-written, the mind blows,
in anthologies, a poet's fame grows!
George Amadi,
May 14, 2011 on Linkedin
in response to: "Would you
for one year stop writng
poems"
May 14, 2011 on Linkedin
in response to: "Would you
for one year stop writng
poems"
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