My muse brings me metaphors; I supply rhymes.
As a pair, we might strike anywhere, anytime,
But why do we do it? Which motives are there?
To do it so often should prove that we care
For either the process, results or rewards,
But which of those things do we really work towards?
I don't write for money It's not to get rich;
I'd find more of that in a sidewalk or ditch.
And what of that cousin of money, the fame?
Well, I don't spread my poetry; thus goes my name.
To stay superficial, do I do it for fun?
I let it distract me when there's work to be done.
Do I write to show off, or to prove I'm a man?
If pressed, I'd have to guess I do it just because I can.
As a pair, we might strike anywhere, anytime,
But why do we do it? Which motives are there?
To do it so often should prove that we care
For either the process, results or rewards,
But which of those things do we really work towards?
I don't write for money It's not to get rich;
I'd find more of that in a sidewalk or ditch.
And what of that cousin of money, the fame?
Well, I don't spread my poetry; thus goes my name.
To stay superficial, do I do it for fun?
I let it distract me when there's work to be done.
Do I write to show off, or to prove I'm a man?
If pressed, I'd have to guess I do it just because I can.
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