Incomitatus

They say I am so very blessed

To know the art of verse

But let me tell you, readers all

There also is a curse

For  none shall know the poet’s heart

or scarce can feel the lines

Nor can the poet have full joy

Without her equal kind

No ear can know the rhythm full

No soul can hold the depth

Unless the poet’s heart have ye

And with it ye have wept

The sadness for the poet comes

When her equal is not seen

For unless they have a poet’s heart

They cannot grasp the dream

So I may write of sorrowed times

And joyful days of glee

But while I pen,

 I mourn my life

For where is the rhyme for me.

                              ©  Kimberly Jo Smith