A Hungry Poet

A Hungry Poet

 

She stopped inside the coffee shop,
bringing her own silverware.
Sitting down and spreading out,
the utensils that would sate her hungers fare.

 

Layed all out in front of her,
It was a feast and still a goal.
And so she dug right in,
for this would feed her hungry soul.

 

She didnt care about rights or wrongs,
she didnt care what others thought.
This was more a junket for her,
she could eat it up without being taught.

 

Pen kissed out upon blank paper,
words made love to hungers theme.
Her compostion left her nourished,
her hunger, sated, had been reamed.

©J.Edenshaw~2007

Author's Note

critique is appreciated

Reviews

[Deborah Leah Krempa]

Lovely poem. Good job. Thank you for sharing. Debileah