Letters don’t you just love their generosity.

Way way back in the sands of time
Back when I first thought I could write in rhyme
I made a total cobblers of it
Everything I wrote went head over tit.

No matter how hard I tried
Those words I laid down just curled up and died
Throwing up their imaginary hands in despair
Silently screaming this just is not fair.

I was never really given a chance
Words, they lead me on a merry dance
The alphabet it too was of little assistance
Gathering up words, keeping its distance.

My insistence though made it quite plain
That if this continued I would without hesitation inflict pain
There was no way I was going to be held ransom
Rhyme would be written and then some.

Eventually you’ll be glad to hear it came to pass
Words decided let’s not be so crass
Let us join together and in harmony
Allow this writer create a symphony.

So early one morning taking pen in hand
I began writing, I had nothing planned
Words between them suggested it’s time
Put him out of his misery let him write in rhyme.
So off I went on my merry way
I had lots and lots I wished to say
At this point in time I’ll just say that is that
What is to come tomorrow I’ll keep under my hat.
© Chris Black. April 2018

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6 thoughts on “Letters don’t you just love their generosity.

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