Sunday, February 04, 2007

#287: February 4, 2007

Another mulligan tonight, I think;
I just can't seem to get it going yet.
I'd rather put my feet up, have a drink,
and lose my troubles through the TV set.

It must be disappointing, should you care--
if daily you should turn this way your eyes
to find my poem answering your stare.
If that's the case, then I apologize.

I try my best--I think I'm doing well.
Two hundred some-odd sonnets in the book,
I count more good than bad, but who can tell
before unbiased critics take a look?

My muse tonight has suffered this defeat;
but through it my project will be complete.

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