Where bright words dance like trout
Celebrating in a cool mountain lake,
I am the fisherman with stalwart rod

My catch, my sustenance to take.

Words I keep in pockets, deep wells
Where no human light ever shines.
Dusted with lint and disappointment,

As I work the forge of my rhymes.
Words held in a candy dish on my desk,
Waiting for my fingers to fumble forth
Some semblance of human language
With its expendable crumbs of worth.

My life I write with words dull in pain,
Offering them up as a timid sacrifice,
Knowing minds shall judge them thus
As they roll them-like bone-white dice.