My Poetry

Will they scoff and carry on about my ill crafted work?

What will people think,
Of the words from my heart?
Will they scoff and carry on,
About my ill crafted work?
Or will they grin and say,
They understand my soul?
Will I be studied by children,
Who’d rather be at play?
I don’t seek to be famous.
I'd just like to live on.
In my prose, who knows?
Will they understand?
Or will they find their own meaning?
And my work becomes theirs.
And I just the catalyst of thought.
Yet I know nothing,
No more than any man.