Sometimes I find myself thinking in rhyme;
not every day and not all the time,
but when a new thought decides to emerge,
a thought that\'s resisted the urge to be heard,
I race to my keyboard, sit perfectly still
and wait for the rhyme and the meter to fill
my empty page, that contemptuous place
that scorns my attempt to fill all the space
with glorious words, such beauty and grace
that within a few days I\'ll hear my phone ring
and a voice will direct that I pack all my things
and move to New York; Oh my, what a dream!
Can it be that my words have obtained the esteem
of the Pulitzer group that waits breathlessly
to examine the rhyme and the meter they see
from a would-be poet like me?
Sometimes I find myself thinking in rhyme;
not every day and not all the time,
and when the urge comes, I sit with the thought,
consider my options and decided that I ought
to go take an afternoon nap.
Oh, well.