My memory's overloaded,
words just keep spilling out;
I've got words on my pillow,
and even on the floor;
There's paragraphs on the pavement,
and letters at my door;
I've got phrases in the pantry,
and prefixes in a pan;
There's vowels in my window,
and grammar in a can;
I've got proverbs on the patio,
and saying's on the wall;
There's footnotes in the front room,
a conundrum in the hall;
I've got metaphors in the basement,
and sentences to make you think;
There's conjunctions in the kitchen,
and characters in the sink;
I've got lyrics in the lobby.
that are worth another look;
I might gather them all together,
and put them in a book.
© 2010
Brian J Stafford
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
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