The Poet

Dear Marty,

I am taking typing so decided to try out my skill.  I hope you can understand this letter.  Track has started and I usually come home dragging from my workout.  Life really isn't so bad.

Some times a poet is a bird
   Floating lazy on a breeze of thought
Soaring with the wings unheard
   Into fancy dreams of naught

Some times he's a Knight of old
   Clad in armour and amore
Handsome brave adventure bold
   Always hero in the war

Then sometimes he's a mystic prince
   Ruling with an iron hand
Charming ladies with his stints
   Clothed in purple of his land

Sometimes yet he is a precious stone
   Shining with an inward hue
A gem in silent tone
   Radiating life's sparkling clue

But most times he's a drag.

                           - G. Mark Trimble