“How can a happy poet write?”
I ask in oblivion of age.
Courageous I age!!!
Like wine for the future is great
I know my price will raise…
The sadness of the cellar is,
only for those
Too scared to make a hole,
To break through on the white horse…
Of hope.
I spend so much time outside,
That my pen and paper got moldy
So the inside feels toxic
And the table’s so greedy…
Thus spoke a happy poet,
So take a break from time to time,
Enjoy life, enjoy your prime!