Grubb Street Writers Inc.

              #447

              Ah, Well

While I'm not a poet

With any kind of skill,

I can, sometimes, turn a small verse

To make it do my will,

Like sun rays streaming through dark clouds

To light that distant hill. 

Grubb Street writers...

           #169

         This Poet

This poet never blots a line,

Though many fall far short of fine;

This poet never mends his verse,

Unless it ends with death or hearse,

For lately he has felt unwell

And cringes at the thought of Hell,

A literary enterprise

For poetasters, wits, magpies.