I tried and tried again
To write a poem from beginning to end.
Though this is what I planned at first.
The night goes on and my writing gets worse.
I decided to print during the night.
It's the only thing that seems to look right.
I know I'll be marked from one to ten,
Are they my teacher's or my friend.
Crumbled papers gather around my knees,
A glass of water is all I really need.
Laundry's done, and I had my bath,
Back again, quick as a flash.
Fearful that I'll write a bummer,
Time slips by as I sit and wonder,
Who ever thought that writing a verse,
Would be so hard, Though math is worse.
Twelve o'clock and all is well,
My head's getting big, It's starting to swell.
A pen in hand felt like my only friend.
Before I realized it, I reached the end.
the birth of this poem just touched my mind, and i'm delighted with this find. loved it!
Birth of a poem is such a familiar feeling...lovely write Christine 10
nice description on the birth of your midnight poem...thanks Christine...good work...10
all of us go thru this stage, for it is a writers game. i start when a verse comes into my head, and a pen i will not bend, till the second verse comes into my mind then i tell myself that now is the time. (we all have mental blocks) you are doing great my friend, every time you sit and write, it becomes dynamite.
Hi Christine, I love this poem so soft and gentle was the pen used to place this fine piece together.....It helps to write our pain down doesn't it.......keep expressing my friend......I loved the softness of your composition, wonderful job 10+++ Best of Health & Happiness Jon
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
dear christine i really love this line; A pen in hand felt like my only friend,