Tuesday, February 28, 2012
My friend sat down to write some verse,
Claimed anyone could do it.
He said there was no mystery,
And really nothing to it.
He wrote some rhymes that sounded well,
And rhymed them too, by Rover.
But going on he found he had
Some syllables left over.
And so he tried to tuck them in -
Tried soothing out the rhythm.
But when he paused, he found he had
Those syllables right with him!
The more he tried to "woo the Muse"
The more she grew elusive.
When pleading would not help, alas!
His language grew abusive.
He bit his nails, he tore his hair,
He beat upon the table.
He truly tried to concentrate
As much as he was able.
At last he tore the paper up,
With a resounding crackle.
And vowed that writing verse sure was
A job too hard to tackle.
Posted by Bob J. at 11:41 AM