Poet Don’t Show It©

As I sit here and ponder what to write

I suffer every poet’s plight

What to put in it that may bypass a cynic

Will it pass the test of time or be it a rhyme

Is it about a crime or will someone even pay a dime

How will I tell it if I can’t even spell it

It won’t be shock if I get writer’s block

Once more it would lead to things being hocked

How will I blend smarts and wit in it

With critics abound ready to pounce a limerick

When I made this a career choice

I knew then that I wouldn’t be driving a Rolls Royce

My Father would often say

Are you getting a real job that will pay

But Mom would often defend me and herself relay

Let the boy play he will make it some day

So now I sit here with a dry piece of bread

Trying to forestall the dread, what if they’re right I plead

Just then and there it came to mine head

It’s time for bed, don’t let this spread

Enough said

Andreas Simic©