A self-referential acknowledgment of a long Friday Poem hiatus.
It’s half a year since last I rhymed, my longest gap in twenty years; and seeing that, I find my mind is petrified with little fears. What if my skill at rhymes is gone? What if the last I wrote is last? What if I now rhyme “won” with “on” or mix up meters slow and fast? Or worst of all, what if I think my skill unaltered doth remain but all my readers find I stink and my new poems give them pain?
But see: one verse I now have spun! It’s meter’s fair, it’s rhymes ring true. My last, at worst, was last-but-one. Time for that ill-defined word “phew!” And yet, as I this poem read I do not find poetic worth. Some symbolism poems need, or, barring that, at least some mirth. This joke may save me from my fall: “A physicist said ‘cows are round’…” Oh no! That isn’t right at all! My gift for poems’ lost, not found!
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