Coffers of the poets seem full
Of things both good and bad.
The things that keep men wake at night
The sadness to be had.

There is so much to write about
As we reflect our world
Of all the things we see and hear
Emotions that unfurl.

To peer about on these dark days…
Not much to laugh about.
But, sometimes, we poets write
Of things that bear no clout.

Such is the nature of our world
Come good or bad. E’en strife.
Everything's not all 'rosy'
In the Seasons of life.