AN AMATEUR POET: AN AMATEUR ROUTINE A pen in hand, a sheet on desk Multiple ideas sprinting in head What can be soul stirring? What is as yet unsaid? Sundry poetic words like beads And do they harmonize - oh yes! If only I could tie ’em together Alas! I possess no splendid thread Scrounging for secondary substitutes Nonetheless, the intellect remains unfed “I give up prose & poetry!” exhaustedly said Another crack of dawn and I sit back at the desk Thus I stick to following, The path I customarily tread.