Find words that suit and build on about time
I feel no need to qualify, or weave such a lie
I shall let my poems gather dust, and silently die
The toll it has taken for the first stanza here
Brings me more woe than love could gear
Yet the words have this unwanted force
But then now th second stanza has become morose
Bishop states of loss from her life and time
I for one simply cannot make my poems rhyme
I have watched my heart bleed and flood my eyes
And with such unwanted build-up the third stanza dies
This could be the last ditch try
I have penned poems even at my low or high
This fourth stanza will signal an end
For this poem wil be difficult to mend.
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