I told you I’d
try to write a new rhyme, every day for a year, one day at a time
The first month
it’s over, it’s been pretty fun, and the end of this rhyme sees another day
done
Sometimes it’s a
struggle to find the right words, to make it all fit, without sounding absurd
Sometimes it
comes easy, they fill up the space, the rhythm and rhyme they fall into place
There’s often a
story I explain with my prose, it has my own view, no-one else knows
The paper, the
news, it gives me a thought, I picked it up on the run, no, never been taught
Although I must confess,
I picked up a clue, from my talented mother, a poet she too
Rhyming, and
timing, it must have some form, if it does not, it’s gone from the norm
You see I’m a
poet, I write what I like, if you don’t agree, then get on your bike
I think it’s
quite funny, in my own stupid way, I can tell you things here, that I dare wouldn't
say
Only eleven more
months, and my deed with will be done, so eleven more months, of word-smithing
fun
When I am
finished, I’ll pick one for sure, that will be my favourite, and there won’t be
no more