Oh It's Late, Very Very Late...

                 #448

                Sinking

Would I were a poet

Instead of just a hack;

I'd fill the world with wondrous stuff,

And ducks that poop and quack.

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.