If I Could Make a Living as a Poet

Spending my days,

writing in rhyme.

Words from the heart,

and lines so sublime.

What would it mean;

to live like this?

I do truly believe,

nothing but pure bliss.

I would sip good whiskey,

and smoke fine cigars.

Sit beneath the trees,

and recite them to the stars.

A woman by my side,

with a smile on her face.

Love in her eyes.

No need to race.

A small log cabin,

Tucked amongst the trees.

Splendid lazy days,

followed by nights that please.

Days would soon pass,

and seasons would fade.

But it would not matter,

‘cause of this life made.