Anxiety wells up inside,
Unsure of what is best to do.
Iíd truly rather run and hide
Than sit here feeling lost, confused.
I know I canít go back and change
Atrocities that I have done,
A pardon I cannot arrange,
The law I know I canít outrun.
In fear and trepidation wait
To be arrested by police,
For that is sure to be my fate,
Canít seem to get a momentís peace.
And sure enough, I hear a knock,
To entrance timidly I pace,
With trembling hands, the door unlock,
Embarrassed, stand here face to face.
ďPlease put your hands behind your back,
Must nip this problem in the bud,
The English language youíve attacked,
Youíre writing is as clear as mud.
Must keep your hands from penning more,
For unsuspecting victims read,
Not knowing what may be in store.
Your gibberish they do not need.Ē
With head hung low, cooperate,
Iím taken to the writerís jail.
Theyíll hold me here where I will wait.
Itís where they take you when you fail.
I have some time to really think
Behind confining iron bars.
And as I ponder in the clink,
I know Iím guilty of the charge.
I come before the judge in court,
Express my genuine remorse.
Am sentenced to receive support
And take another writing course.
With tears of gratitude I say
That Iíll be much more careful now.
Iíll proofread, edit, never sway,
With hand on Bible, this my vow.
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