When you finally feel like a real poet
You write so many rhymes that flow
Half of them come out of you
The other half forget you do
Don't get angry when you write one
Disappears from sight it does
As God's the one who judges you
Perhaps he'll save a poem or two
For heaven as heavenly it would be
If God saved the poems
Here written and lost
Because life is a poem
And death is the cost.
