James T. Sapp

Mister Sapp rhymes in his head.

Two thousand poems, it's been said.

A friend asked, "Do you think that way?"

"In rhymes? At times most every day.

Don't you?" he queried in reply,

Then turned away his winking eye,

Resuming rattling keyboard keys,

"Just one more stanza if you please!"

Hailing from the high, dry plains

Where Rocky Mountains reach to gain

Their soaring heights above the clouds

(He tends to shun the teeming crowds),

You'll often find him on clear nights,

With telescopes upon the heights,

Where frigid air is thin and clean,

Enraptured by celestial scenes.