What I would give to write happy words,
To string together a poem
That left you and I assured
Of the warmth of a sunrise, swiftly ushered
By the chorus of blue jay prose

But each of these words is dyed black
By thoughts with no start or end,
Lilac, light, and love would lack
True meaning written by an insomniac
Who jrekkers with the Jabberwock

I envy you, you whose thoughts soar
Lift us with your feathered pen,
Impart the fervor you store
In each tranquil rhyme and sanguine metaphor
I’m glad for you, you poets.