I thought I could never get my poem done
Without adding some sanguine fun,
Till I came across great poets, masters by birth
Who wrote soulful verses, sometimes devoid of mirth.
The lasting impressions intensified into a lump in my throat
I wished I belonged to that era, sailing in the same boat.
I grappled around with poems of Keats and Yeats,
But was heartbroken I couldn’t write that neat.
In an anguished state, my writing overflowed,
Till my ink went dry and the night lamps glowed.
My passion spent, I looked at my creation
Bestowed with praise and worthy appreciation
The beginning of a pure verse is a lovesick soul
It breaks impregnable barriers and grows manifold.
Rhyme scheme-aabb The poem is composed of three quatrains and a couplet.