Of my old hometown i am living far south
And my worth as a rhymer i have cause to doubt
But poetasters as we know have never been rare
And plenty like me in the big World out there
It is said of good poets they are born not made
And only the best can hope to make the grade
I pen heaps of stuff far south of Millstreet Town
Without any hope of success or renown
But writing of people and Nature i never seem to tire
And though the stuff that i do pen others never inspire
For to read my stuff, i just keep penning on
Though my better days in all honesty gone
And a small voice within me whispers to me each day
Don't quit never give your addiction away.
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