My poverty is a poor excuse for a paucity of poetry,

Especially as many opportunities to see it are free.

Yet a scarcity of funds shamefully does limit me,

In terms of my mobility

As well as in the ability to raise any requisite entry fee.

But what’s the cost to me in inspiration lost?

What satirical lines have I now not begun that might have sprung

From the second-hand breaths of my lyrical brethren’s unsung song.

What truths now go unproven, unspoken,

Leaving links unbroken

Only because they, were never made.