Sometimes I write a real stinker.
Sometimes I write a nice gem.
More often than not, it’s a mixture of both
that somehow escapes through my pen.
I know what to do with the good ones
and the stinkers will all crash and burn,
but what to do with the ones that are both
is something that I can’t discern.
Right now they all go in drawers
male and female, they must multiply.
When I open the drawers, it seems there are more
than I recall putting inside.
I hope there’s a poetry storehouse.
If there is, I must go today.
I’ve run out of drawers, and some smell pretty bad
yet they’re too good to just throw away.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
I'm sure we can all relate to this one; -) S