The short version

Hi everyone,

Glorious day. Slept late. Nothing to do. Nothing I want to do. Something will come up and my job is to wait for it. More later.


5 comments on “The short version

  1. Waiting for A Poem

    I yawn, and then I wait.
    The poem, it seems, is late.

    I send another note.
    The tea slides down my throat.

    But still the poems resists.
    I stand and show my fists.

    The poem just turns its back.
    Unfurls a flag: “You hack!”

    I throw the cup, it misses.
    The poem just laughs and hisses.

    I take a long hot bath.
    No poem is aftermath.

    I watch a movie, when
    The poem takes out a pen.

    It hands me a first line.
    Oh poem–I know you’re mine.

    ©2017 Jane Yolen (and poem) all rights reserved

    • Ha ha!

      I had a poem like that once.
      Made me feel some kind of dunce.

      Taunted me with hide-and-seek
      Then dashed away, the little sneak.

      Pranced around just out of reach,
      Provoked a livid, strangled screech.

      At last I forfeited the fight.
      The poem dreamed with me that night.

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