One might say I've written a whole heap of stuff <br />Of the sort literary critics see as slipshod and rough <br />But with a penning addiction I keep penning on <br />And today I will pen more since yesterday's gone. <br /> <br />I used to daydream that I might be a poet <br />Or a person worthy of some literary note <br />But few make a fortune in the Wordsmith trade <br />And like 'tis said poets are born not made. <br /> <br />Far north in Duhallow I daydreamed of renown <br />In Spring in the old fields west of Millstreet Town <br />Wildflowers were in bloom and the landscape looked green <br />And the robin sang on the hedge by the bohreen. <br /> <br />The beauty of Nature for all to enjoy <br />And I have loved Nature since I was a boy <br />The blackbird he piped with his bright yellow bill <br />And the dipper he sang in the stream by the hill. <br /> <br />Jingles to Mother Nature I often did write <br />And to myself only them I did recite <br />But even back then I already knew <br />That writers are born and poets are few. <br /> <br />Some tell me I ought to give writing away <br />But to their advice heed I never do pay <br />I love penning stuff of that why should I lie <br />And as a poetaster I live and as a poetaster I'll die.<br /><br />Francis Duggan<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/i-love-penning-stuff/
