When I don’t write a poem
there is a small part of me that wonders why;
there may be many reasons,
and things may be fine;
but, it might be a sign
that something is wrong.
It’s not so bad
if I have written a story,
or penned a song,
instead;
but, if there is nothing being written,
is there something amiss inside my head?
A day or two ‘can’ happen,
when nothing much is writ by my hand;
but, if any longer should pass,
I’m not sure that I’ll understand
what might be occurring,
what might be astray,
and I will have to question myself closely,
on why I’ve not written for many a day.
