Good For…

The lure of the lyric from the beginning beckons

I am made for it, live it, love it, I reckon,

For what else am I if prose is not within me

What else will I be if I don’t write this for thee,

No job is wholesome, no business fulfilling,

No love fulfills me, for it is selfish and silly

Depending only on need or greed

Comparing with others to demean my breed

Nowhere does it go, nowhere good to lead

Will be the downfall, a prison, waiting to be freed

But when ink touches paper, soft and kind

All the trouble dissipates, encouragement I find

The hours fly by, the world turns wondrous

And I know, sitting on this stony step,

What I am good for…