I write poetry,
and I don't know why.
I'm not some pretentious wit,
I keep it to myself,
and I don't know if I'm any good -
though practice does improve.
Sometimes I have those
flashes
those spontaneous outflows of feeling
that Wordsworth loved.
But it's not just that.
It's just,
perhaps,
the beauty of words themselves.
No comments:
Post a Comment