With pen in hand my thoughts I write
sometimes a little trite
Simple things, screams and shouts
Then have many doubts.
Some funny you have to laugh
before I finish the paragraph
I share memories from my database
Some words I often replace.
Sometimes lines look limp and bare
then my mind does despair
I find I write almost any place
Anywhere I find a space.
When my pen runs dry of ink
And there is no time to think
With many a verse still to write
Will I find an answer to my plight.
My humble pen has come to rest
Doing what it does best
Thoughts 'till morning put on hold
That is now my story told.
© Hazel
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
You have an excellent feeling of rhythm!