My last written Mistake
The doubtless man could write all day.
He’d send his worth to sail away.
On ships of gold who dare to sink.
an embryo of life’s dull ink.
When all alone I sing my song the words mixed up the poets wrong.
The context right the pen is thin.
The papers strong,
Hope dwindles within.
All the while I hoped for a girl to see me.
Now that I do I’d be gone in a few,
If the reason I wrote wasn’t for you.
Previous existence was a release to de-stress,
Now a reward, a relaxing partake.
Let’s see where this goes.
My last written mistake.
Copyright G.P Williamson 2013