What an overwhelming time
To try to sit and write a rhyme
Forced to hurry, it’s a crime
No chance my verse will be sublime
Might need to bury it in lime
Cover it over with muck and slime
Wash my hands of poetic grime
To try to sit and write a rhyme
Forced to hurry, it’s a crime
No chance my verse will be sublime
Might need to bury it in lime
Cover it over with muck and slime
Wash my hands of poetic grime
From its grave it may just climb
And search for whom the bell will chime
And search for whom the bell will chime
Ken Goree
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