She welcomes solitude, some time to write,
Enjoys the quiet on a summer night.
With grammar book and writerís guidelines, too,
Mind races with ideas fresh and new.
When sitting on the deck, with pen in hand,
Hears voices that she doesnít understand.
The neighbors are away, it canít 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 thatís when things begin to come to light,
The voices then erupt into a fight.
ďIím active, and I bring us all alive,
Or else the rest of you could not survive.
I know you think Iím ordinary, but
Without me, readers would be asking, ĎWhat?í
For I convey a person, place or thing,
Into a sentence, clarity I bring.
But Iím the one who introduces you,
Iím proud to be an article, itís true.
But you are nothing when youíre on your own,
I interject, exclaim, command, alone.
Well smarty pants, thatís fine but tell me then
Who else could tell the why or where or when?
You flowíry thing, donít tell me you donít know
That growing writers do avoid you so.
I ask, ĎWhatís wrong with flowers anyway?í
My pretty words can make a poetís day.
Whatever, donít you know that I describe?
I draw the reader in, Iím like a bribe.
Who cares, for itís well known that Iím the glue,
Iím in the middle joining all of you.
But I describe relationship between
The rest of you, to help the reader glean.
Youíre picky where you in the sentence land,
Refuse your placement if itís at the end.Ē
ďI canít believe what Iíve just heard tonight,
For thereís no reason for you all to fight.
I ask you, please, stop fighting, for my sake,
Your conflict makes my writerís 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,Ē
And, quietly, the parts of speech agree.
Afraid her writer friends will not believe
The words she heard on this calm, summerís eve,
She frantically records each bit sheís heard,
She doesnít want to miss a single word.
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