I've thought of giving up, a dozen times,
just stop, and never think of it again.
Quit updating the blog and wrestling rhymes;
find some secluded spot to stow my pen.
Let someone else call out the iambs' march,
beat dactyls and trochees back into line,
or bend their metered thoughts until they arch
into a pleasing shape, that isn't mine.
I've really got no reason to continue.
Not much here worth the time it takes to read,
and no one frequenting this run-down venue
to see if we're still open. Grim indeed.
So--if a poet doesn't make a sound
and falls, who cares, if no one is around?