I know I can't compare
to Maya Angelou or Baudelaire
You will not find me on the shelf
with them or those that make you feel
you want to rent your clothes
with such despair and weep
with grief you cannot bear
I am replete
with simple diction tight and neat
My poems are junk
someday be buried with me meek
Like Hallmark cards
Not fit for lounge rats in a bar
Written by Sara Fielder © Jan 2012
Sara Fielder
http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/junk-9/
