Ok; you’re poor
And you are forced to fill your days
With mindless, monotonous tasks.
A slave to work!
No secret savings stowed away,
But you can write!
You can compose!
Your Muse can make sweet music in your mind.
String wonder words together so divine
\'Cause you’re a special poet friend of mine!
Ok; you wake
And aches and pains are waiting for you
To ambush you like cruel assassins.
You swallow pills
And bind supports to both your knees.
The day has dawned
The day you dread!
But stanzas surface subtly in your soul
For from a healing heart that once was torn
A buried thing of beauty now is born
Ok; you’re tired
From endless nights of broken sleep
And diabolic dreaming
Your weekend flew
And Monday’s blues are waiting round the corner
You feel washed up like shell upon the shore
But from the pier
That fish hooked on my line
I’ll fry it up for you; a dish divine
\'Cause you’re a special poet friend of mine!