Poetry Is A Gift Poem by Michael Maxwell Steer

So great to have the gift of words return!
For like virility, it comes unearned,
indeed if sought more likely stays away
leading to greater alienation. Pray
tho you may, or pay what you will,
when winter comes you must endure until
your spring returns.
While summer is less than half
the year we still expect a sunny life path
all year long; and quickly run for pills
when autumn mists enfold us with their ills.
Each winter tries what use we make of sun:
whether we nurture gifts, or allow fun
to seduce our better selves with pointless thrills.
A harvest rich in words … or unpaid bills?


16/6/11