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Poetry

A Seasoned Poets Pen

A Seasoned Poet’s pen

Could I forever dip this quill
And bottle after bottle fill
The vials of vernal’s brimming plenty
Springing joy would never empty!
When April-May their lines have spun
Then Summer’s their continuum;
When he has sung his madrigals
Then loveliest June with magic calls
Unto her sister in July
The zenith of this Majesty!
Augustus stems let saps decline
For tapping ciders and the vine:
See the year will end in plenty
Thus my quill is never empty!

Poems