Not content, what feeble mind,
scribbled these abominations,
tear all and start afresh to find,
worthy words without incriminations;
yet my efforts leave me with distaste,
a bitter flavour to match a bitter soul,
spent valued time and effort, what a waste,
to create one true beauty my stated goal;
It isn’t that I am being strict and choosy,
beauty I find in her and her verses intangible,
why the muse that visits all like a floozy,
refuse me that my words tame and illegible;
the verses flow unasked, uncontrolled and fast,
my days are not over and I shall triumph at last.