A pen when ponders

No sailor of seas on a long journey, Nor gold coffers, just words of poetry, Yet, precious nuggets from the depths of sea. Gone to explore as a graying old man, O rudderless with no more than a pen, And ready to return with empty can. Ye have explored single minded till now, And find it fruitless to take stock of wow Bare of brickbats—a rule somehow to bow. Shallow praises, if not hollow, of pen, On a dunghill as if crackles stray hen, Shrill, vague voices that few care to listen. Cheer up, ye chase no goal-pointed measure, Passing an idle time, nor tame leisure, Let your pen toil for spirit’s sole pleasure. _____________________________________ Tercet |01.05.2024| poet, introspection Poet’s note: In an age when scores of things vie for people’s attention, when nothing succeeds unless promoted and marketed well, a pen ponders. The poem is classified as ‘Other’, but it should be called a ‘Tercet’.