I must confess,

I have no idea,

Of the pen,

We have diarrhea…

Four in the morn,

Stroke of genius,

Better it is than to be forlorn,

HE did of the thorn adorn…

Such thoughts lost,

Knowledge gained,

Intellect the cost,

I am no Robert Lee Frost,

My mind too criss-crossed…

Too much of anything, negative,

Too little as well not positive,

Perhaps we do well to recall,

Our writing nothing but scrawl,

By our own admission,

We are one with and placed right behind the eight ball…

© ed ~ 4/17/06