“Not a Poet” I sit with words, but they won't flow, A heart that feels, yet thoughts move slow. I yearn to craft a verse so fine, But in this task, I can't align. The rhymes elude, the rhythm strays, In tangled lines, my mind decays. I wish to help, to weave a line, But poetry's art is not in mine. So here I stand, with humble plea, Not a poet, just me, simply free. Though verses fail to dance and sing, In friendship's warmth, I find my spring.