A Poet's Wares

Poetry is thought distilled;
You squeeze it and condense it.
When intent has been fulfilled,
You’re ready to dispense it.

Many poems don’t get that far;
They stick with their creator,
Unreleased into the world
Or maybe saved for later.

Those that make it take a chance
That after they’re inspected,
They will be forgotten fast
Or, even worse, rejected.

Poets choose their words with care
And offer up their wares
In hopes that somewhere in their realm,
There’s somebody who cares.