A PAUPER’S SOUL
A pen without a drop of ink,
No thoughts profound, precise, succinct;
No sheaf of paper to be found;
No music, just discordant sound.
No time to watch the sun arise,
No time a rhyme scheme to devise,
Forgot to bring along a book,
A poem to read this day forsook.
No dulcet word on paper write
Before the eyes shut close at night.
If the heart is not well nourished,
The soul cannot thrive and flourish.
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