** will never write poetry
His senses are too occupied
With his surround’s passing scenery
Holding them in gaze wide eyed!

** has no time to think and write
Letting so much meanwhile pass him
Not counting the sleeping hours of night
Eyes’ plenty to fill him to brim!

** can’t spend whiles typing away
While the sky turns her blue into red
Can’t afford to waste an already short day
Counting words creating riddles in his head!

** is too busy to set his mind
On begetting inky wordy ***** poem
With nature calling him to see and find
The beauty of the morn in sun flame!