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Thalia

My prose, on which I might labor all day,
In droves seems to drive my readers away.
But poems that flow from brain to keyboard,
Show greater gift to be succored and heard.

To hone an idea in opinion shared,
Balancing context and imagery squared,
Ignored by folks who look at my poems,
As though potentate issued a dictum.

Looking in mirror laugh at my folly?
Absence of readers makes melancholy.
Write to please others or just prattle on?
Poem prose balance leaves me feeling wan.

What words can I say and what should I do,
To convince readers to read my prose too?

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