Am I really a poet?

Or merely writing down

The wonderings of a meandering mind,

That twists and turns

And hops and skips

Like a stone skimmed over water?

 

Or is this what a poet is –

One who writes down their thoughts?

And yet all my verse is blank

With neither rhyme nor reason

Since any rhyme there is, is unintentional

And therefore without reason!

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