For today I am poemed out,
No more will I of my talent flout,
Such is vanity or at least just about,
I will take a day off, maybe,
To clean the cobwebs of my brain, out,
That should be a scene to watch, a total rout…
The poem light extinguished,
Unable am I of poetry to distinguish,
Tired of listening to the rain on the roof,
Ernesto did make a mark of this I got proof…
My lil’ writer’s elf is on holiday,
Possibly somewhere to catch a ray,
On a beach he is with legs splayed,
If I knew where I would send a bouquet,
If he does pass somewhere near your way,
Tell him we miss him & are in terrible disarray…
© ed ~ 9/2/06
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