Going up the hill
In Autumn’s chill
I try to find the time
where I can make a rhyme
to end this darn poem.
Somehow
I simply cannot unearth the words,
So I listen to the birds.
Going up the hill
In Autumn’s chill
I try to find the time
where I can make a rhyme
to end this darn poem.
Somehow
I simply cannot unearth the words,
So I listen to the birds.
Saturn's Premier Poet 