Netgedichten

netgedicht (nr. 20.117):

Patron

My language lingers thou my dear
done thee unjust although sincere
so fare enough I must confess
my inner struggle more or less
whilst poetry is not my thing

Afresh thou love within my words
although a well of pain endures
I would not taunt to go along
and jibber such in native tongue
since poetry is not my thing

Thou sees’st my lacking so I guess
that thy art incomplete alike
or art thou good a friend and thus
believing firm applaud thy must

Though poetry is not my thing
my roerbak sells, thou art buying