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She welcomes solitude, some time to write,
Enjoys the quiet on a summer night.
With grammar book and writer’s guidelines, too,
Mind races with ideas fresh and new.
When sitting on the deck, with pen in hand,
Hears voices that she doesn’t understand.
The neighbors are away, it can’t be them,
So just where are these voice coming from?
She could give in and let herself get shook,
Instead, she opens up her grammar book.
And that’s when things begin to come to light,
The voices then erupt into a fight.
“I’m active, and I bring us all alive,
Or else the rest of you could not survive.
I know you think I’m ordinary, but
Without me, readers would be asking, ‘What?’
For I convey a person, place or thing,
Into a sentence, clarity I bring.
But I’m the one who introduces you,
I’m proud to be an article, it’s true.
But you are nothing when you’re on your own,
I interject, exclaim, command, alone.
Well smarty pants, that’s fine but tell me then
Who else could tell the why or where or when?
You flow’ry thing, don’t tell me you don’t know
That growing writers do avoid you so.
I ask, ‘What’s wrong with flowers anyway?’
My pretty words can make a poet’s day.
Whatever, don’t you know that I describe?
I draw the reader in, I’m like a bribe.
Who cares, for it’s well known that I’m the glue,
I’m in the middle joining all of you.
But I describe relationship between
The rest of you, to help the reader glean.
You’re picky where you in the sentence land,
Refuse your placement if it’s at the end.”
“I can’t believe what I’ve just heard tonight,
For there’s no reason for you all to fight.
I ask you, please, stop fighting, for my sake,
Your conflict makes my writer’s spirit ache.
Each one of you is vital for my use,
I need you all to sentences produce.
Besides that, you are all distracting me,”
And, quietly, the parts of speech agree.
Afraid her writer friends will not believe
The words she heard on this calm, summer’s eve,
She frantically records each bit she’s heard,
She doesn’t want to miss a single word.
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