For me, the poem's crystal clear, eight syllables to start,
Then suddenly the rhymes appear, so I must play my part.
I choose the ones I think worthwhile, that aptly fit my theme,
Some help the style or make me smile, more verses still to stream.
So on I strive for pastures new, for good things now and then,
If they bless me, they may bless you. That's why I write again.
Just eight then six and eight then six. Just count the syllables.
For me, that's quite an easy fix, if I stick to these rules.
But then the ending comes to mind. As yet I know not what,
Who knows? It could bless all Mankind. Or sometimes not a lot.
I merely pause and bide my time. No need for me to fret.
As I've got faith that's quite sublime. It hasn't failed me yet.
Just show some patience. Don't give in. That last line's oh so near.
Thank God for that! I knew I'd win! Ode here, ode here, ode here!
Denis Martindale April 2020.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.I would like to translate this poem