No one likes a poet,
No one now cares for rhyme.
The computer game, and Hollywood fame,
Are how we spend our time.
Yes I can see the folly,
Of poems that I now read,
No sense they make, my time they take,
Like fruit that bears no seed.
For history has remembered,
Great lines of poets past,
Though while alive, they barely survived,
Yet somehow their words still last.
But in this day of wonder,
When the mind invents great things,
And poems are cast asunder,
Like birds that no longer sing.
1/28/05
Gary Bryson
http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/no-one-likes-a-poet/
