You call it stuff or doggerel or call it what you may
I've written reams and reams of it and I've known a better day
I've got a penning addiction that would seem fair to say
But few of us near perfect or so 'twould seem that way.
When i look in the mirror an ageing bloke i see
And i never use the word poet when I'm describing me
And that is just being honest not false humility
Self praise seems rather boastful as many would agree.
I had my dreams of wealth and fame going back decades ago
But life's not a blooming garden as one like me should know
In life as I've discovered there's many an up and down
And I've done my share of living far south of my Hometown.
An ageing addictive rhymer just that and nothing more
Like the migratory birds on their Wintering grounds far from their homeland shore
But unlike the migratory birds who go home to breed in Spring
I remain here on a distant shore and of the homeland sing.
You can call it stuff or doggerel or what you so decide
And you may say I'm low in self esteem or one who lacks in pride
I've aged but i have not matured like well fermented wine
And what you think about me is your business not mine.
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