Mere vagaries dwell

On parchment old

Written with quill

In blood

Though, if your eyes

Should read such scribe

You'd flee 

If only you could

But scraping brain

And flesh & skull

The ills 

Shall burrow deep

Such sweetness of

Poetic sorrow

Shall free your soul

To weep 

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Poetry is a funny thing

It can cause debate

Or make hearts sing

It can take you to

A wondrous place

And brighten up

A moody face

It can make you smile

Or make you fume!

And sometimes even

Make you swoon

It can make you cry

And make you shout

Or, sometimes, be 

Just about nowt!

It can make you think

And make you ponder

What lies beyond

The ...

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