April 30: Overall
Thirty days has April, not thirty-one,
which means poem-a-day is just about done.
(Perhaps) a relief for readers,
(Likely) a reprieve for writers,
But we’ll keep that a secret, unspoken
and focus on what’s been written.
A final query I pose
before withdrawing into repose:
Is it the poem makes the poet,
or the one self-christened who composes it?
Poet, poem, egg, chicken
Matters not a whit in the end, I reckon.