BURNT OUT POET
he was a
burnt out poet
there he sat glumly
in the cinders
of his villanelles
smouldering sonnets
flickering terza
scorched sestina
and some singed
crumbling free verse
and unrecognisable
odes-haiku-ballads
dog eared charcoaled
limerick ashes
but to his surprise
and total delight
came up with
of his own dear
almost smoke free
sparkling rondels
pmcmanus
q557
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