The Pearl Poem by John F. McCullagh
The Pearl
If all my life was perfect,
and all right with the world.
My pen would suffer from disuse.
My parchment not unfurled.
For what fool indeed
would waste his time
scribbling down lines
When Dame Love beckons to the feast
and all the world was mine.
No, irritation is my muse
and I her slaving churl
who palpitates a bit of grit
until it is
a
Pearl.
Wednesday, October 16, 2013
Topic(s) of this poem: writing
POET'S NOTES ABOUT THE POEM
Not the one of great price but not costume jewelry either.
READ THIS POEM IN OTHER LANGUAGES
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
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5/3/2024 9:06:49 PM # 1.0.0.1119
