Anthony W. Pahl
HONEST POETS: A SONNET
Poets settle uneasily at the thoughts in their brain
Of how oft they are left with an embarrassing pain
At the words that they write and notoriety they gain.
(For poetic scribble leaves an indelible stain.)
Who are they that most oft of simple errors complain?
Methinks it is those who from imagination abstain:
For the man who writes naught is a man quite insane
In thinking that the poets are afraid of the rain.
Do the writers of words pen their words just for fame
And make public their words to attract miserly gain?
Nay – I say that the epics formed in poetic refrain
Are inscribed with no need to plebeians explain.
Regale in the verse penned with expectation of naught
Except satisfaction that poetic expression has bought.
©Copyright December 26, 2010 by Anthony W. Pahl