And so I sit and simmer,
Like pot and kettle sat,
Words all a buzz in front of me
I simply don’t understand.
Who to tell and what to say
There is nobody here;
And if there were, they’d simply laugh
To simmer over art.
And in a way, they must be right
I shall not come to boil,
Many things we find frustrating
But to succeed, we also toil.
If you like this poem try my most liked: https://abeliamayblog.wordpress.com/2017/11/02/sheltered-under-wing/