Saturday, February 14, 2009

My Predicament 2

Long ago, I did nurse
An ambition to write in verse.
But when I finally sat down to write
Poor, nay, pathetic was my plight.
I went from poor to bad to worse.
My poems, into a hearse, were thrown.
And on a sad, sodden, stormy night
Were at a burial site, buried.

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