It isn't really much to ask, a minute, maybe more,
Yet answering proves quite a task and typing's such a chore...
And reading text leaves some perplexed... of that you can be sure,
Imagine being somewhat vexed... and not thrilled to the core...
While some get paid along the way... I'm not yet one of those,
When I'm on form, there's no delay... and inspiration grows...
But when I'm busy... there's no time... I need sleep, Heaven knows...
But wouldn't it be quite sublime to always share my prose?
Alas, time slips away from me... and soon I snore again...
And then I can't write poetry... nor type or use a pen...
Nor read the questions each one shares... of who, what, why or when...
So please forgive me in your prayers... Amen... Amen... Amen...
Denis Martindale December 2019.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem