....Poet's Blues I can’t write that poem, I don’t have the time. I want to write that poem but I don’t have the time To sit myself down for long to make that rhyme. They have me busy in the morn, afternoon and night I say I’m busy all morn, all the day and night When it comes to making time I’m always losin’ the fight. My mind, it stays busy with each and every chore My mind it finds the rhymes even during those chores. But putting pencil to the paper is like a losing war.
Need to remember this-------it's hard to remember when you have your head slammed into a wall over and over during a long weekend away, by a drunk who's arrogant, narcissistic, and thinks a good life is drinking a 12 pack of beer and smoking a pack of cigs every day!!! Some GREAT life, huh???