Sometimes, I feel, I've writ more than enough;
Must I retire from making poems now?
The literary weather appears quite rough;
I see declining trends for my first love!
My words from mind and heart and soul are slow;
I've touched on many themes and can't find new;
The gush of words has turned a gentle flow;
The bark is now almost a stifled mew!
How longer can I write with magic tones?
The fame I sought eludes my toil till now;
My flesh has vanished, leaving just my bones;
I wonder when my call comes from above!
Yet, I can't say the end has come for me;
Man's span is in the Hands of Almighty!
Copyright by Dr John Celes 25-07-2014
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem