I cannot think of how to begin, so I write to bring me in. My words are less than spoken thought, just barely more than what is not. But as a stone gains momentum when it tumbles down a hillside, soon this little idea-in-the-making will crawl, walk, run and fly. So when pupose is beyond me and I feel an urge to express, expunge, I merely pick up the new quill and ink well to wring out the sponge. After all is neat and tidy and I feel my work is done, I will simply close my hard-bound mouth and cap my plastic tounge.
Reason for writing:
I wrote this poem for lack of subject matter. I submitted it for fun.
Birth sign: Not entered
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