“Are you in… because you most certainly seem to be in?”
What on earth was this lad talking about
My writing it seemed, he cut me off at the corner, told me he felt an enormous need to shout it out when it came to these particular people, we’d just arrived at the hotel, back from the Blackrock steeple
Was this lad for real, sure it was only me, the freckled lad from Cork all too used to being referred to as the dork who writes poetry
But it did look as though my rhyme, my story flow was setting itself in motion
Once he left, beaming hard, I patted myself on the back, finally accepted the humble approach to be wrong, that I was well and truly giving this thing a fair whack
People were talking, a girl all about reading my poem, promised she was going to check out the website as soon as she got home
The taste for things is most certainly there, the least despair I will ever share comes as soon as I sit it out at my laptop, chop and change ’til I’ve done my job, stand up from the chair, stretch my arms and say
“No doubt about it, that poems great, I can’t wait to charm you all”
Up it goes on the site, I no longer give a damn, no such qualm when it comes to advice ‘cos I know that what I’ve done feels completely right
Dunno if it’s talent or what but it’s just good to know, finally reap what I sow, my words absolutely hitting the spot

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