In time too many words I've lost
To claims I found worth saying
And yet today I find myself
Regarding them a bane

It seems that words put once to place
Cannot be put again
Disturbing an accepted grace of sort.
I find this truth a pain.

What can be done of lasting moments
Fleeting in the wind
When lightning strikes me once again
I find myself most pinned!

Indeed a poem lacking style of the kind I yearn to know
And yet it suits me for the while my plots of tales re-grow

I wait the day I get to reap what things that I may sow
But to that age I trod along annoyed by a dammed flow