Once More - Slopping Some Words On A Slowish Evening
These words of mine they’re weak I know.
They prompt a little visage, though;
With halts and starts along the path
These weary words come rather slow.
My keyboard muse must think it queer
To tap out stuff like “Us” and “Fear”
Between the likes of “Death” and “Love”
And homonyms that gather near.
At first I thought these words would do,
But, briefly, caught a whiff of poo.
My vision dulled as if to sleep
Then grammar soured and veered askew.
A single phrase was fit to keep,
But I had hard drives yet to sweep,
And files to fling into the deep,
And files to fling into the deep.Pinhole's Shop
But that single phrase is success. Many "writers" never do accomplish even that.
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I might have exaggerated about having a phrase worth keeping. A little poetic license, you know.
Thanks.
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I remember this from the old (WU) days. (Cripe! I sound like an old codger already.)
I still think, as I did then, that Robert Frost would be proud, though he'd probably be wondering what the hell a 'hard drive' was.
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And what, exactly, is wrong with being an old codger?! As they say, it beats the alternative.
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You are such a poet, Pinhole. I have to admit, I envy your talent.
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Surely, there is no cause for envy, unless you wish your IQ to be lowered so as not to be such a burden.
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