Leather and canvas shod feet constantly streaming on past;
Are these pairs of brown and black shoes the last?
Can’t they see what quality they pass?
My superb books of poetry on display,
How can they so swiftly walk away?
I’m sitting listening to happy chatter
Of those who will soon buy from others.
Moment by moment I patiently wait,
Wondering who will buy and demonstrate
Their superior poetic artistic trait.
By the renowned artist Harry Hawkins the illustrations were donated.
If not my verses, his etchings should be purchased;
For the buyer’s appreciation they are finely crafted.
But people seem not curious to wonder what these red books contain;
What knowledge and depths of feelings they portray;
The promise of the verse is to lighten their day.
These purchased out people will not pause to buy more;
So my pile of masterpieces, I am afraid they ignore.