Poetry I'm sure is no little mystery
I am unsure of her ways
If she sleeps or if she is awake

Sometimes her stone tools and weapons
Sometimes her love and care

Poetry is no easy task
A poem to write can be as hard as a job
As mowing any field
As hoeing any row
Her fruits are as satisfying as any
They hold me fast for a while
But I will always hunger again
So it is out to a field to toil and work
I hope my crops are sweeter this time