The Rhymes Come To Me

I have  written the rhymes of  the far away hills
And the babbling rivers and silver tongued rills
That have inspired the  makers of story and rhyme
And have flowed through the old fields  through centuries of time

I have  written the rhymes of people and  life
Of the hard drinking man and  his neglected children and wife
And the homeless and misplaced who are doing it tough
The people who know what it's like to sleep rough

I have written the rhymes of Nature's beauty i've seen
Like the bluebells in bloom on the ditch of bohreen
When the hawthorns are cloaked in their white blossoms of May
The  memories of what was in me live today

For decades of years i've been a rhyming buff
And i am one who has written pages of stuff
The rhymes come to me on notepaper i jot them down
But never for money or literary renown

I have been penning stuff for four decades of time
Suppose in a way i was born to rhyme
Of stories i hear and of things  i do see
The rhymes every day keep on coming to me.