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“Try Spring as your theme,”
Yes, that’s what they said,
And clichés by the ream
Wrote themselves in my head.
Shall I laud the daisy,
Its joys recollect?
Nah, I won’t be lazy,
That’s what they’d expect.
Perhaps “New beginnings.”
Is that what I’ll pen
For FaithWriter winnings?
No, not that again.
Then bunnies, and baskets,
And bright eggs galore!
A tisket, a tasket…
They’ll yawn and they’ll snore.
I could write of lambs
All wooly and soft.
“Ah, your mind’s in a jam,”
My inner Muse scoffed.
“Then it’s gardens,” I cried
In an indignant huff.
But I’d already tried
Too much ivy-type stuff.
“Should Christ be my theme?”
I started to brood.
But that just didn’t seem
To fit this poem’s mood.
Alas, woe is me!
No great prose to submit!
A disgrace I shall be,
As an author unfit.
I can’t do it, how sad…
Hey wait, this is nifty!
I took time to add,
And my words passed one fifty!
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