I didn’t wander lonely, I’m a clod;
just soil beneath unbroken sod,
I’ve never seen a cloud above,
tasted air, fallen in love;
I wait here with my senses numb,
down-trodden, hidden, non-sentient, dumb.
‘So, how can you write a poem?’ you ask.
I must admit, it was no easy task;
I started off with one small word;
then added all the rest you’ve heard.