To Write a Poem

I will not bow, I will not grovel. Somewhere inside, I have a novel. For now poems come freely, so I'll continue on with what I know. My Eddie lays beside my chair, I wash my face, I comb my hair. It helps me think, I take a drink. Water, teas, a coffee with booze. When I get tired, I take a snooze. I toke my smoke. I riddle. I rhyme. In my seat, on my feet, I have time. Walking, walking, down the street. Greeting all creatures that I meet. I pass by my little white chapel. I miss Gram's eggs and scrapple.