I sit and think and lines of verse recall,
And as I think, I soon reject them all
In part for how they'd make my cadence fall,
Or else my rhyme scheme force to make a turn
I would not care to follow. Still, I yearn
For a time I might use what I've learned
Through years of doing that for which I trained,
The training which has left me since in pain,
At least as strikes my pocketbook again.
But I know now what I should have then,
Though how to turn that knowing to my end
Is far less clear to me. It is no friend,
Such knowing as I have. And what to do
Eludes me as its ghost laughs, dancing, too.