A poet I am not.

A poet I am not by any measure of the word.
But this I know in my heart...that if the inkwell ran dry, and the nib oh my quill were worn beyond use...
I would cry a thousand tears, lost in the yearning of my own desires, knowing I could never catch them on paper as they fade like waves upon the shores, never to be felt again.

Reviews

[Valentine]

This is lovely. It might be laid out in free verse using each line on top of the other. All prose does not rhyme. This tells a story. Valentine

[ron]

Thank you.