Xx

Xx will never write poetry His senses are too occupied With his surround's passing scenery Holding them in gaze wide eyed! Xx has no time to think and write Letting so much meanwhile pass him Not counting the sleeping hours of night Eyes' plenty to fill him to brim! Xx can't spend whiles typing away While the sky turns her blue into red Can't afford to waste an already short day Counting words creating riddles in his head! Xx is too busy to set his mind On begetting inky wordy lusty poem With nature calling him to see and find The beauty of the morn in sun flame!