For more than forty years I’ve written verse,
Some gathered up in photocopied sheaves
That I’d among some willing friends disburse;
The rest a row of three-ringed books receives.
Decades ago, I printed one small book
Of light verse, called Ped-antics, to amuse
My friends and colleagues, but never undertook
What every dedicated poet pursues:
A volume that a noted publisher
Agrees to pay for and promote among
That niche of readers who sometimes prefer
To read aloud what’s best when said or sung.
That’s now my goal, to harvest and to sell
My winnowed store at last—so wish me well.