I wrangle words.
They're most sublime.
Some people say
I speak in rhyme
All the time.
I'll dream in verse,
Long or terse.
When my muse leaves,
I turn for worse.
It's a curse!
You may find me writing lines,
As lilting meter intertwines
With complicated thought designs
To paint poetic images,
As text aligns.
Or maybe I'll just break the mold
When thoughts take hold
And I get bold.
Or maybe I'm just getting
Too tired and old.
The world yet doesn't know it,
And maybe I'll blow it,
But I hope my words show it.
Then I'll admit
That I'm a poet.
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Author Notes
I meant to post this in the contest, but missed the deadline by 15 minutes. Oh well, I never win them anyway, so I guess I saved myself $5.50. At any rate, I posted it here.
My wife took this picture a while back. Not sure of the date. Grabbed it out of my Facebook account.
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