I used to scribble poetry

When I had the time

Putting words together

In a simple rhyme

 

Although my quill is wilting

And I'm getting old

They say they are quite good

Or that is what I'm told

 

But now they are getting better

I no longer have a book

I now have an anthology

In which to take a look

 

I know I felt embarrassed

I know it was absurd

How can I write poetry

I don't know a simple word.

 

Working in a coal mine

In English we needed no grade

Where we called a book a book

And we called a spade a spade.