I'M Just One More Amateur Poem by Francis Duggan

I'm just one more amateur in this great wordsmith trade
And for my bit of penning I never do get paid
And millions of writers out there but so few make the grade
'Tis said that writers are born and they cannot be made
But 'tis not for glory that I write and surely not for pay
Perhaps I am addictive most of us are in some way
I have a reputation for penning slipshod rhyme
And I like many others feeling the wear of time
A long way from my old home a mile from Clara hill
And a long way from the old fields and the silver tongued mountain rill
That babbles to the river every night and every day
Through fields and by windswept hedgerows from here so far away
Yet in my flights of fancy I hear the robin sing
Upon a leafy birch tree on a calm evening in Spring.