We all long to live in poetry
Not merely in beguiling drudgery
Yet we always seem to lack the rhyme
When we search for it in the bounds of time
We seek to do instead of to be
We want the answer instead of mystery
And then we stop and wonder why
Our living river is completely dry
We all long to live in poetry
Not merely in beguiling drudgery
Yet we refuse to move out of the ditch
We cover ourselves with tar and pitch
Then wallow in the muck and mire
Refusing to see where we can inspire
Is a place of clean simplicity
I think I’ll rest beneath this tree
K, Duane Carter 12-11-10
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