A Problem With Poets

A Problem With Poets

By Tom Halley

 

One bitter cold day all his words went astray.

Not one syllable would come his way.

He could not speak or write—not even rhyme!

“Oh Lord,” he prayed, “please give me more time.”

Tried hard to speak, but only mumbled.

He opened the door, stepped outside and stumbled.

All that night he searched throughout his brain.

Alas, his desperate word quest was in vain.

He pondered his fate with awe and with wonder.

“Dear Lord,” he prayed, “let my mind wander.”

He dreamt of a jungle up high in Tibet.

(Now that’s a scenario as strange as one can get!)

He awoke in China—then again in Rome!

“Good day, mon amour I’m glad you’re back ‘Om.’”

Then takes a short while to realize

how damn well he can visualize.

 

Ojo Del Lago
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