If I could write the bestest poem,
The bestest of them all,
Then that would be more than a whim,
More like a miracle!
For I'm not blessed with eloquence
That flies off from the page,
Surpassing all poetic trends,
Since I've not reached that stage...
But, when on form, I'm still quite good
At what I try to do,
Because I'm doing what I should
To please the likes of you...
But even then, no money's paid,
No thought of all my bills,
Not even when they get delayed
Because of pains or ills...
So why, should I, continue on?
Except I love to write,
To spread a little light that shone,
Before I bid goodnight...
So this is why, I write today,
The last day of this year,
Before it, too, must fly away,
A new year to appear...
Who knows what next year has for me?
Who knows what it could bring?
Because, you see, with poetry,
That could be ANYTHING!
Denis Martindale 31st of December 2017.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem