Imprimir An old poet by Aa Harvey

An old poet

I want to write a book, and write poetry books,

But I can\'t even get the people to take a look.

Nevertheless the comments that feed my soul,

Feed my ego and my appreciation is never so, so.

Sick of growing old when all I want to do is die.

Time to give up on giving up and give it a try.

Will I write a master piece, before I cease,

Or just throw away the piece I tried to write before I decease?

It’s life or death or death or writ.

If it ain’t in me, then I’ll find a lift.

A way to raise my dead corpse once more,

To write a book, or die a bore.