Why

Why didn't God give to me
the knack of writing poetry?
Of all the things possessed by man,
I envy most the gifted hand
That guided by a rhyming mind,
can scribe out passion line by line.

It's not I am a man unlearned;
by mind and hand my living's earned
Caring for the sick and poor -
making house calls door to door.
But, why didn't God give to me
the knack of writing poetry?

He gave to me the skills to use
the surgeon's tools as I peruse
The "innards" of both man and boy
and then the knowledge to employ
The latest nostrum, balms and cream
and yet I'm left with this one dream:
Why didn't God give to me
the knack of writing poetry?

When I am gone, as those I've helped,
along with all the babies whelped,
There will be nothing left of me
To see upon this earthly lea.
Would it have spoiled some eternal plan
had I but left one verse for man?
Oh! Why didn't God give to me
the knack of writing poetry?

			--Pete Collins