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Poet Boy

By John I. Blair

Itís not that I came late to poetry;
Rather I abandoned it for years
And then repented.

I was too busy trying to define myself
As scholar, worker, husband, father,
To make time for rhyme.

Although I had a song to sing,
I refused to sing it
Unless challenged by another.

Yet poetry kept creeping in.

First a friend, a preacher,
Whose poetry was rough around the edges,
Yet pulsed with passion, thought, and beauty of expression.

More recently a nephew (whose own obsession
Drives him to almost constant writing)
Posed the question, why not?

I had no ready answer, so I did;
And now, it seems, I cannot stop.

©2003 John I. Blair


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